Lost and found in the world
by PeleAmelika
Summary: Aug 4: Ch8&9 revised. Chapters being revised, new chappie soon! An AU fic that takes place in OOTP. A Squib whose parents are taken by Death Eaters and through her trials and triumphs at Hogwarts & Grimmauld Place, she has a blossoming romance with Sirius
1. Abduction

A/N: Chapter re-written as of July 5, 2005

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**Chapter One: Abduction**

"Where is it?" a frustrated Michaela Woodburn said. She was looking for her copy of "Angela's Ashes." "Why did you have to put it off for so long?" she said aloud to herself with a groan.

School was due to start in two weeks and she hadn't started the required summer reading for her British literature class yet.

_Maybe it's under the bed_, she thought. She went down on her knees and pulled away the flowery lavender sheets and matching comforter to look under her bed. Michaela pushed back her short, dirty blond hair out of her eyes. She was just under average height for her age, five foot three, and had striking green eyes.

Moving with some caution (she was a normal seventeen year old with everything from twelve year old teddy bears to old candy wrappers to who knows else what could be under the bed), she stared into the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting.

"So that's where my coat went!" she said, as she pulled the plaid blue coat out. It was coated with a thin layer of dust and Michaela tossed it into her clothes hamper, thinking, _Michaela, you _really _need to clean down here more often; I guess Mom was right_.

Turning back to the task at hand, Michaela pulled out a number of things including a notebook ("U.S. History is the devil y'alls!" on the cover), an old case of blush ("Peach"), and a library book that hadn't been returned in four weeks ("Shopaholic" by Sophie Kinsella). "Shopaholic" was _kind_ of British book, Michaela thought. It was written by a British author after all; couldn't that count as her summer reading?

Resigning herself that her teacher would not take very kindly to a book about a woman with a shopping addiction, British or no, she continued her search. A few minutes later: "Aha! Here you are, you master of hiding book you!" Michaela held up the book to the light for closer inspection and started to groan.

It was well over three-hundred pages that she'd have to read and take pages of notes on. If it had been another book like "Shopaholic," it would be no problem (she burned through books like that), but school books were another story. Michaela remembered the horrors of the previous year when her American literature class read "The Scarlet Letter." Less than two-hundred pages long and yet it took her two months to get through—along with some major help of SparkNotes on the internet.

_Might as well get started; I really don't have anything better to do_. Her best friend, Alice, was in New York until three days before school started and having done all that she could possibly do to put off reading the book, Michaela resigned herself to reading it. She flopped on her bed and started to read.

"My father and mother should have stayed in New York where they met and married and where I was born. Instead, they returned to Ireland when I was four, my brother Malachy, three, the twins, Oliver and Eugene, barely one, and my sister Margaret, dead and gone…"

As she started to read, she became entranced by the book. It was about the poverty of a young Irish-American boy living during the Depression. Not the ordinary school book and as Michaela read on, she shut off the world, losing herself in the book. This was how most good books kept her and there were few things that could snap her out of it. Screams were one of them.

"AHHH!"

Michaela snapped her head up. That wasn't her imagination; it was her mom! She tumbled out of the bed and onto her feet, her heart pounding. There were very few things that could make her mom scream like that. Running out the door and into the hallway, about to run down the wooden stairs, she stopped.

Nothing ordinary could have made her mother scream like that because Michaela's mom wasn't ordinary. In reality, her mother and father were wizards, although they lived in a Muggle neighborhood for Michaela's sake. Michaela was born a Squib, a non-magical person, which meant that while she had to live the life of a Muggle, her parents didn't.

So Michaela knew that Muggle things didn't easily frighten her mother, even possible intruders like burglars. No, what could frighten her mother this badly had to be something from the Wizarding world, in which Michaela had no powers.

With these thoughts, she moved with trepidation down the stairs, slowly and with care not to step on the squeaky ones. As she moved down, she heard voices in the kitchen.

"-won't get away with this!"

"Oh no? You seem to be quite trapped, if I do say so myself." The nasal voice laughed and continued: "Nevertheless, the Dark Lord will break that independent will of yours. I daresay he'll extract useful information from you regarding your dear wife's brother, Dumbledore."

Michaela's anxiety turned into horror. _A Death Eater, here? Oh shit, oh shit, what am I going to do!_

"We'll never-"

"Silence! _Crucio!_"

The air was suddenly full of screams and shrieks of Michaela's father.

"DAD!" Michaela ran to the kitchen, her terror temporarily held back. She stopped at the doorway, taking in the scene. Her dad was lying on the ground, writhing with pain, and the Death Eater was standing over him, laughing. The Death Eater was wearing crimson red robes and had wavy black hair that fell to his shoulders, but Michaela couldn't see his face.

Her mother was on the floor, ropes tightly bound around her. Angela Woodburn couldn't even cry out for her husband or to the Death Eater because her mouth was gagged tightly. Tears streamed down her face as she watched her husband thrash around in agony.

She suddenly noticed Michaela standing in the doorway and with her eyes, she pleaded Michaela to run away. Resolve came over Michaela instead, and started to run to the Death Eater. _Maybe I could jump on his back, distract him or something while Dad_—abruptly Michaela's body stiffened together and her body fell over, just as if she was a straight stick.

_The body bind curse!_ Michaela recognized the curse as she found that she could not move any part of her body—only her eyes. _But how did it happen?_ Her mother was bound together and her father was still lying on the ground in pain.

Luckily for Michaela, the Death Eater was too preoccupied torturing her father to hear her body crash to the ground just behind him.

She could only watch as her father got up again to fight when the Death Eater shouted, "Enough!" and snapped his fingers which caused ropes to shoot out and wrap themselves around Howard Woodburn like his wife's. Then, as Michaela watched with (literally) frozen fear, there was a loud _crack_ and the Death Eater and her parents disappeared.

If Michaela could have cried right then, she would have. Her parents gone, taken by a Death Eater! Of course her parents had warned her about these types of dangers, especially since Voldemort's return to power this past June, but the whole thing had seemed a bit unreal.

Though her parents worked at Wizarding jobs (both of them at the Ministry of Magic in San Diego), on the whole, they lived in the Muggle world. Michaela had Muggle friends and whenever they came to visit, her mom did a charm that transformed anything magical into something Muggle-like.

If it wasn't for the fact that her parents often talked and complained about their jobs and the Wizarding world, Michaela could have cared less about the magical community—she couldn't perform magic and though she used to dwell sadly on that fact a few years ago, Michaela had moved on and accepted her role as a Squib.

She had thought vaguely a few times that she might one day serve to help other wizards and witches understand Muggles better, but she was increasingly more and more distant with the magical community as college and her adult life loomed near. Her parents were a bit disappointed, of course, but Michaela didn't see any point in trying to live in the Wizarding community when she had no magical abilities within her.

Even though it was useless, Michaela concentrated all her energy into moving one of her limbs, but of course she couldn't. She couldn't even open her mouth to call for help and the only thing she could move, her eyes, had a limited view.

She lay there on the floor trying to think of what she could do (with no luck) when she heard another loud _crack_ and another wizard, clad in purple robes appeared.

Body still completely paralyzed, her mind raced with new fear. Had another Death Eater come to take her away? If it was, there was nothing she could do about it. With this unfortunate, but stark truth, she forced her mind to become calmer so that she could think more clearly.

"Angela, Howard, where are you?"

Some relief washed over Michaela's mind. He was here to help! As he turned around, each person got their first full look at each other and Michaela immediately recognized him. It was Uncle Albus Dumbledore.


	2. Questions and Answers

A/N: This chapter has been re-written as of July 7, 2005.

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**Chapter Two: Questions and Answers**

_Uncle Albus!_ Michaela thought.

"Michaela!" Albus Dumbledore ran to her side. "What's wrong? Where are your parents?" he asked with urgency in his unmistakable British accent.

All Michaela could do, though, was move her eyes.

"Of course, the body bind," Dumbledore said, realizing. He muttered the spell to undo it and Michaela immediately felt relief in her limbs, which were becoming sore from the stiffness. Michaela tried to get up, but her legs wouldn't hold her and she fell to the floor again.

"Don't try to get up just yet. Where are your parents?" asked Dumbledore, still anxious.

"D-De-Death Eater!" said Michaela with some difficulty because of her stiff jaw.

Dumbledore's blue eyes increased with fear—but only for a moment, when they were replaced with anger. He stood up and strode through the hallway, looking around.

"N-no-no, they're gone!" Michaela cried out, climbing unstably to her feet. "They—he bound Mom and Dad and Disapparated!"

Dumbledore turned back to her, his expression now something that looked as though he didn't know whether to be furious or scared. He ended up wiping any emotion from his face, though surely he must have been in turmoil inside.

With an intensity wrought from the situation, he said, "We must leave now—it's not safe to be here." He took Michaela's hand and for the third time, there was a loud _crack_ in Michaela's kitchen.

_Crack_. They landed in what looked like an office. There was a large desk cluttered with various items and portraits of sleeping individuals. A loud, roaring fire was in place with purple flames. Dumbledore let go of Michaela's hand and said to her with urgency, "Now tell me exactly what happened."

Michaela looked at him. His eyes seem to bore into the very depths of her soul, just like her mother's when Michaela was caught lying. Her mother. She probably wasn't going to see her mother again. With that thought, Michaela broke down crying and fell back into a plush chair that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Dumbledore went over to her and hugged her, patting her back. "It's okay, Michaela. We'll get them back." Michaela nodded through her tears. "But you need to tell me everything that happened."

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, Michaela began. Her voice was shaky at first, but it grew stronger as she told what happened.

" . . . and when I started to run to help Dad, somehow I got the body bind curse on me. I couldn't move or do anything and the Death Eater didn't see me, so he bound up Dad and took my parents away."

"And your mother was already tied up?"

"Yeah. She didn't have her wand and Dad was in pa—on the ground, you know."

Dumbledore stroked his long white beard, thinking. "Did you know, Michaela, that when a wizard or a witch has particularly strong emotions, they can cast spells without using their wands?" Michaela shook her head.

"It seems that your mother was so distraught at seeing you there that she managed to put that hex on you."

"Then why couldn't she have—"

"—done something for herself? It just wasn't powerful enough, Michaela. You are her daughter and she must have been that much more worried about you."

Michaela sighed. "But, why? I was trying to help—"

"Your mother was saving your life, Michaela," Dumbledore interrupted sharply. "You couldn't have done anything to help your parents; it's lucky that you didn't get caught as it is."

"And why didn't the Death Eater even look for me?" asked Michaela. "It seems that Voldemort's best chance at getting information out of my parents would be threatening to hurt or kill me." As she said these words, she couldn't believe how quickly she had adapted to the situation, looking at possibilities and successfully closing off her emotional mind. Or at least that's what she told herself.

"The best theory that I can think of is that Voldemort didn't know that your parents had a child. Since you're a Squib (am I correct?), your name isn't on the official record of wizards and witches. It was by mere lucky chance that you got away."

"I know, but I just feel that I should've . . ."

"Michaela, listen to me. I know that you haven't exactly lived in the Wizarding world, but surely you understand that even if you were a witch, the chances of you taking down a Death Eater are very small, at best. There was nothing you could've done to prevent this."

Michaela knew that it was useless to argue this point and so asked another question that still confused her. "How did you know that my parents were in danger?"

Dumbledore gave a small smile for the first time that night and merely pointed to his middle finger, which, upon Michaela's closer inspection, bore a red ring with some strange familiar markings on it.

"I've seen that ring before! Mom has one just like it, but it was silver." Michaela had always seen, without fail, the ring on her mother's finger. As far as she knew, her mother never took it off, even at night.

"Yes, it's a type of ring called a "Dwarves Ring." When dwarves mined deep underground centuries ago, there was no way to alert each other if someone was in grave danger. The dwarves appealed to the wizards, who were the main consumers of the precious metals, and so the wizards charmed the ring to make it burn bright red when the other wearer was in grave danger.

"I gave one to your mother when she migrated to America to recruit people for the Order of the Phoenix before Voldemort's fall. I knew that she was putting herself at risk and I gave her the ring to wear so that we would be forewarned if the other was in grave danger.

"As you know, she met your father there and they had you and then after Voldemort's fall, there was no more real danger anymore, but we kept our rings in case the need ever arose again. This is the first time, in fact, that the ring has burned red since we got them."

"Can it tell you where they are?" asked Michaela with a small hope.

Dumbledore sighed. "No, I'm sorry, it can't."

"So what are we going to do?" asked Michaela, jumping up. She suddenly felt very impatient, now that both stories were told. "We need to find them! Mom's told me stories of what's happened to . . . oh God. They're being tortured, aren't they? Aren't they!"

"Michaela, I will do everything in my power to get them back. I do have a few ideas of where they might be—"

Michaela looked hopefully at Dumbledore.

"-but no, you can't come with me, it's too dangerous."

"So what am I going to do? Where are we anyhow?" she demanded, looking around the room again with impatience.

"We're in my office at Hogwarts. But-"

"We're in England? Aren't I going back home?"

"Yes, we are, but no, you can't go back to California because sooner or later Voldemort will realize that you exist and will come after you. I'll have to take you to our headquarters for the Order. You do know about that, right?"

Michaela nodded. "Mom told me all about it but I didn't know it had started up again."

Dumbledore sat down at his desk, moving aside cluttered pieces of parchment and found a clean roll. He wrote something on it with a blue quill and handed it to her, saying, "Read this to yourself and memorize it."

It said:

_The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix  
May be found at number 12 Grimmauld Place_

"Got it?" Michaela nodded. Dumbledore took the parchment and threw it into the fireplace behind him, though not before ripping it into several different pieces.

"Why did you-"

"I'll explain later; it's not completely safe to discuss it here. Take my hand, please."

Michaela obliged and for the fourth and last time of that night, Michaela heard a loud _crack_ and they were gone from Dumbledore's office.


	3. New Acquaintences

A/N: Revised as of July 7, 2005

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**Chapter three: New Acquaintances**

_Crack._ Dumbledore and Michaela arrived on a rather shabby-looking street; there were broken windows and bits of trash lay on the ground everywhere. Leading the way, Dumbledore led Michaela between two houses, number eleven and number thirteen.

"Remember what you just read," said Dumbledore quietly.

Michaela remembered the note he had given her and suddenly a house appeared between the house numbers eleven and thirteen. It was quite shocking for Michaela, who glanced around nervously, looking to see if anyone had noticed what had just happened, but not so much as a cat came out to investigate.

Dumbledore strode to the front door, which had an odd knocker shaped like a snake. He pulled out his wand and tapped it once. It took a full five minutes for someone to answer, during which Michaela shivered. It was getting on past ten o' clock at night. When Michaela heard the sound of a chain and dead bolt being unlocked, she gratefully moved closer to the door.

The person who answered the door was a man with long black hair who looked quite handsome, once a person got over the shabbiness of his robes. He seemed vaguely familiar to Michaela.

"Sirius, we have a situation here—"

"You're Sirius Black!" said Michaela remembering. "You were in Azkaban . . . but you escaped!"

"Come inside, Michaela, he's on our side now," said Dumbledore.

As they stepped inside, Michaela said, "No, no, I know, Mom told me about it, but made me swear not to tell anyone."

Dumbledore looked at her sharply. "Just how much do you know?"

"I know that some man, oh what was his name? Pettigrew! Yes, so Pettigrew was made the Potter's Secret Keeper before Voldemort's fall and Pettigrew betrayed them and then pinned it on Black."

Sirius and Dumbledore exchanged looks. "What do you know about the Order?" asked Dumbledore.

"Oh, not much, Mom said I wasn't to know too much since I wasn't in the Order, but she told me that you might start it up again and she would join you again if it did."

"So she did," said Dumbledore, sighing.

Sirius, who had been quiet up to this point, said, "Dumbledore, what's going on?" Michaela noticed that he had done a double take when he first heard her accent.

Dumbledore walked down the hallway, beckoning Michaela and Sirius to come. He led them to a kitchen and invited them to sit down at the table that was there.

"Sirius, this is Michaela Woodburn, my niece. I received warning earlier this night that my sister Angela and her husband Howard were in danger. I Disapparated to their house in California and found Michaela here with the full body bind hex that Angela had put on her to stop her from trying to rescue them from a Death Eater."

Sirius looked at Michaela with a mixture of pity and sympathy. Michaela, however, turned away from his gaze and looked intensely down at her fingers, trying not to think about anything.

"She must stay here for now but I think that she will attend Hogwarts . . . you know who's coming to Hogwarts this year, don't you?"

Sirius nodded. "But how will you explain this to—"

"I'll make up some story. She can't go back to California. It might be possible for her to do her normal schoolwork at Hogwarts. You're in your last year at school, aren't you?" Dumbledore asked, turning to Michaela.

Michaela looked up to him. Her mind was grateful to have something else to think about. "Yes, but you know I can't do magic-"

"You're a Squib?" said Sirius incredibly.

"Yes," said Michaela, a bit annoyed. Though Sirius probably hadn't intended it to be cruel, it still brought back painful memories of the teasing she used to get when she was younger and still hoped to be part of the Wizarding world.

"I'll send the details in the morning, but I must go now. Please help explain the situation to the others, Sirius."

"Of course."

With that, Dumbledore took off out of the kitchen, presumably to the door. Before he left though, Michaela caught a glimpse of his ring. It could have been her imagination, but Michaela thought the ring was redder than before and was now smoking around the edges.

After Dumbledore left, Michaela felt a huge surge of exhaustion, both mentally and physically. Given the nights events, it didn't seem unusual and she was about to fall asleep when Sirius gently roused her.

"Come on, there's more comfortable places to sleep in this house, though hard to believe."

He led her down the hallway. In her sleepiness, she didn't see the umbrella stand made out of some sort of a leg and tripped over it.

"Damn!" Sirius said.

"What's—" but that was all Michaela could say before a woman started shrieking so loudly that it hurt Michaela's ears. Instantly, Michaela's sleepiness went away.

"—BLOODY FILTH IN MY HOUSE! BORN ODDITY'S WHO CAME FROM THE ARROGANT HELL- HOLE OF A COUNTRY!"

"Don't mind her, it's just my dear sweet mum!" shouted Sirius to Michaela before bellowing "SHUT THE HELL UP! I'M TIRED OF LISTENING TO YOU! IF IT WERE MY CHOICE, I'D BURN THIS HOUSE DOWN!"

With that, Sirius tried to close the curtains of a portrait of a furious-looking woman who was apparently the one making all the noise.

"Come help me!" called Sirius and Michaela rushed forward. With a tremendous yank, they managed to close the curtains and the woman's shrieks died away.

But all of the other portraits were awake now, though they didn't have curtains, so Sirius yelled "_Stupefy!_" and waved his wand and a ringing silence followed.

"Sorry about that, my Mum is an old hag with racist ideals about wizards."

"You're telling me." Michaela now felt forcibly awake, like when she had to get up early for school even though she only had a few hours of sleep. Sleep wouldn't come easy for her now; it never did when she was in that state and she had the added double that her parents were—_No, I'll think about that later_, she told herself. _Just get to the room and then you can do whatever_. She hoped that "whatever" did not include crying because she did not like to cry at all, but at least it would be better in privacy.

Just as Sirius and Michaela were walking towards a flight of stairs, passing a row of heads that looked suspiciously like house-elves, they heard voices upstairs. Michaela braced herself for another onslaught of shrieks and yells but Sirius waved it away. "No, it's not more portraits, it's just everyone upstairs. Damn! She just had to wake everyone up, didn't she? Bitch."

Sirius looked about ready to go kick the portrait of his mother, but then thought better of it. With a sigh, he led Michaela up the partially carpeted stairs. A light was on in the corridor.

"What's going on?"

"Who woke up Sirius' Mum?"

"Everybody back to bed! You have to get up early tomorrow!"

But whoever it was that gave that order was clearly ignored as people stepped out of their bedrooms, coming to see what all the commotion was about.

"Sirius, what's going on?" asked a skinny boy who looked on the smaller side for his age. He had flyaway black hair and Michaela saw a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

_Harry Potter? What's he doing here?_ Well, it made sense, her mind argued. Her mom had told her about Harry and his escapades at Hogwarts—not to mention his escape from Voldemort as a baby. He had to live with his Muggle relatives every summer, who were apparently quite awful to him. He was probably going off to Hogwarts with—Michaela looked at the gaggle of people.

Four of them had flaming red hair and looked as though two were twins and the other two were their siblings, a boy and a girl. Another girl had bushy brown hair and looked about Harry's age.

Sirius looked over at Michaela and she nodded. "This is Michaela Woodburn. She, uh-" Sirius broke off, not knowing what to say.

Michaela broke the awkward silence. "My Mom is Dumbledore's sister. I'm, uh, his niece."

"Is something wrong?" asked an older lady who also had red hair and looked as though she might be the mother of the four red-haired children.

"Well, um . . ." Sirius paused again. He looked at Michaela, clearly wondering whether or not she would mind him telling them what had happened.

"It's okay, Sirius. My, uh, my parents . . ." Michaela trembled. _Don't cry or you'll never get through with this,_ she told herself. "They were t-t- taken!" _There!_ She had said it. Saying it oddly gave her a sense of small relief.

"By whom?" asked one of the red-haired twins keenly.

"Shut your mouth, George!" said the red-haired lady.

But Michaela blurted it all out before she could stop herself. "By a Death Eater! He had them bound and I tried to save them, oh!" Michaela couldn't help the tears that started to come.

But she continued her story through her tears, she felt as though she had to tell them what happened, to make them understand. "He bound Dad and I t-t- tried to h-help him! But Mom put th-the body bind hex on me! And then they were g-gone!"

She collapsed to the floor, still crying and now shaking as she said, "They're being t-t- tortured right now, I know it!" Michaela felt like all the emotions that she had tried to bottle up so badly were now gushing forth and she had no power to stop them.

Sirius and the red-haired lady went to her and tried to comfort her. "Get back to bed, you lot!" called the red-haired lady.

"Molly, go ahead and go to bed, I'll take care of her," said Sirius after their efforts to calm her. He led Michaela back downstairs.

Michaela was now slightly calmer; she was hiccupping and brushing away the tears off her face. Her hands were still shaking a little as Sirius took her to the kitchen again.

"It's okay, Michaela," he said.

Michaela looked at him through blood shot eyes. She didn't know this man at all but found herself pouring her heart out to him. "I'm so scared! What if they . . . what if . . ."

Sirius saw that she was going to upset herself all over again and walked over to her and gently pushed her to the floor where he rocked her in his arms back and forth.

Sirius didn't know exactly what to say in a situation like this and so said the only thing that he could think of. "Dumbledore's on the case, Michaela, and it'll be alright. You know that Dumbledore's the only one that Voldemort was ever afraid of. He's your parents' best chance and a hopping good one at that."

After comforting her a bit longer, Sirius said, "Here now, drink this potion." He magicked a goblet full of liquid from the refrigerator to his hand and put it to Michaela's lips. "Just drink this."

Devoid of any energy, Michaela drank the liquid without argument. It was pleasantly warm and sweet. Instantly, she fell asleep.

Sirius sighed, looking down at her. "Poor girl."

"Is she alright, Sirius?" said the red-haired lady who was coming into the kitchen.

"I gave her a potion for a dreamless sleep, so she should be alright for a few hours."

"Poor dear. I can't believe Angela and Howard were taken by a Death Eater!"

"Dumbledore's gone to try to find them."

"Do you think he'll be able to get them back?" she asked.

Sirius' face darkened. "I don't know, Molly, but Dumbledore said to take her to Hogwarts to do her schoolwork there. If that's not a sign that her parents probably won't be recovered, I don't know what is."

"Did you tell her?"

"No, I couldn't bear to tell her. Poor girl, she's had enough for this night and her parents might yet be recovered."

"Let's take her to bed; she can sleep with Hermione and Ginny."

"No, she can have my bed for the night; I think she'll need a little time in the morning by herself. I'll just sleep on the davenport on the second floor."

Sirius lifted Michaela up in his arms and carried her off. As he laid her down, he couldn't help but feel such deep sorrow for her. This poor, pretty girl whose life was drastically changed in mere minutes. Sirius silently renewed his vow against Voldemort and his supporters before heading off to sleep himself.


	4. First looks

A/N: Chapter revised as of July 26, 2005

**Chapter Four: First Looks**

Michaela tossed and turned throughout the night. Though the potion that Sirius had given her was for a dreamless sleep, she still had a rough night due to her level of stress—something that no potion could take away. As a result, in the morning she found herself tangled in the bed sheets when she awoke late; the noise from the people earlier had not woken her up.

For one blissful moment she couldn't remember what had happened the previous night or even where she was: this wasn't her bed. She couldn't even remember going to bed. Where was she? Then, like a sharp burn, everything painfully came back to her.

Her eyes started to water at the memories from the previous night, but Michaela firmly held her eyes up to the ceiling to prevent the spillage of any tears. Michaela had had enough of that. What would her parents think? _They would want me to be strong_, she told herself firmly.

In fact, it almost came as a shock to Michaela, remembering the emotional display that she had put on the previous night. She was not the kind of person to cry in public nor did she tend to wear her emotions on her sleeve. Passive-aggressive was what her parents told her. Able to control her feelings in times of anger or sorrow—this was one of the key reasons why Michaela hardly lost debates with her parents or other people. She always managed to keep a cool head while other people got angry and said or did rash things.

But this was different. Her parents . . . her parents were something much bigger than some stupid argument; they were her life! They had raised her, guided her, and gave her unconditional love, such that she hadn't experienced from anyone else. If she lost them . . . Michaela's heart gave a wrench.

_I won't think about that now_, she thought. _Sirius was right, Dumbledore's their best chance at survival and I'll waste time and energy fretting about them.  
_  
As she untangled herself from the bed sheets, she took a deep breath to fully calm herself. Standing up, she looked at her surroundings. She was in a small room, with a dingy window on the opposite wall of her bed. The pale blue carpeted floor looked as though it had recently been cleaned, as the fumes of an unknown housecleaner solution rose up to meet her nose.

There was an ornate, wooden dresser near the foot of the bed but beyond that, there was no other furniture. The walls showed discolored places where photos or pictures had been hung but were taken down. Her bed was the only nice and cheerful thing about the place. The bed covers had a Quidditch theme with red balls that Michaela remembered as "Quaffles," black bowling ball-like "Bludgers," and finally, golf ball sized "Snitches."

Michaela started to stretch out her limbs. She did this every morning, regardless of where she was. Stretching not only fully woke her mind and body up, it also gave her a sense of peace, not to mention great flexibility. Her mom had a great fondness for Muggle Yoga classes and had shown Michaela a few of the moves.

After about five minutes of trying to smooth out the wrinkles out of her clothes that she was still wearing from the previous night with little success, she opened her door and went down the hallway. Finding the steps, she went down and walked quietly through the corridor (Michaela heartily remembered the paintings' screeching from the previous night).

Hearing voices from the kitchen, she entered the room. In it were three people sitting around a table, drinking coffee.

Sirius started when he saw Michaela come in and asked tentatively, "How are you this morning, Michaela?"

"I'm fine." Michaela looked at their unconvinced faces. "Really. I've had my, well . . ." Michaela gave a nervous laugh. " . . . emotional breakdown. I've decided that there's nothing to be done for it but to hope for the best. That's what my parents would want, anyway."

"We're glad to hear that, dear," said the red-haired woman.

"Sirius, could you introduce—"

"Oh! Sorry, of course. This is Molly Weasley, the mother of all the red-haired kids you saw last night," he said, gesturing to the red-haired woman. " . . . and this is Remus Lupin, one of the Order."

Remus Lupin had the look of a homeless person, with ragged robes and a slightly gaunt, but kindly face.

"Well, I suppose you all know who I am, but for courtesy's sake, I'm Michaela Woodburn." She sat down at the table and immediately Mrs. Weasley jumped up.

"What would you like for breakfast? Toast, eggs?"

"Oh, I'm not very hungry, thanks." All three of them stared at her.

"Not eat breakfast? You must be joking, Michaela," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Well . . . I hardly ever eat breakfast . . . most people don't," said Michaela, a bit disconcerted.

"Is that an American custom to not eat breakfast?" asked Lupin, trying to understand.

"Well, erm . . ." Michaela trailed off. Biting her lip, she said, "Some people eat breakfast but usually I don't have time so I skip it." Seeing their incredulous faces, Michaela hurried on to say, "Well sometimes I do eat breakfast, on Saturdays and Sundays I do, because I don't have school and things."

There was a pause, when after, Mrs. Weasley said, "Well, are you sure that you don't want something to eat? After all, you have a long journey ahead of you."

Michaela thought it best not to argue. "Okay then. I'll just have some milk and toast, please."

As Mrs. Weasley went to the pantry, Michaela asked, "Journey? What journey?"

"Well, as your parents haven't been found yet, Dumbledore is going to send you to Hogwarts until they're found. You'll do your schoolwork there."

"But how? I go to a Muggle school."

"Dumbledore said he'd explain it in a—" but Sirius didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as an owl flew in, nearly hitting Lupin's head, and dropped a letter in front of Michaela:

_Michaela Woodburn _

_The Order of the Phoenix Headquarters_

_The Kitchen _

_London, England_

Michaela tore it open and began to read:

_Michaela,_

_I have not been able to locate your parents—_a stab of disappointment hit Michaela_—but I have good hope. In the meantime, I have sent for your possessions from your home and textbooks for your next year at school. Since it will be too dangerous for you to remain in the Muggle world, I have made arrangements for your stay at Hogwarts. Until we find your parents, you will do your studies there—_What? I don't want to go to Hogwarts! I can't do my studies there—it's a Wizard school—_I will tell you the details when you arrive. Remus or Molly will accompany you to Hogwarts and I shall hopefully see you at the start-of-term feast tonight. _

_Albus Dumbledore_

Michaela handed the letter over to Lupin and Sirius, sighing. Of course Uncle Albus would think of a way for her to stay at Hogwarts, there was no use hoping otherwise. _At least it'll be short-term_, Michaela thought dejectedly as Mrs. Weasley set a glass of milk and toast in front of her. "Thank you."

"No problem, dear."

"So how will I be getting to Hogwarts?" asked Michaela. She knew that normally students took a train there, but it was too late in the morning for her to take a train up.

"Well, I think it'd be best if you and Molly took the Knight Bus. Molly can escort you to Hogwarts then," said Lupin. "And no, Sirius, you can't go," he added sharply, seeing Sirius' hopeful face.

"Why not?" asked Michaela.

"Because Voldemort will have known about my Animagus form and obviously I can't walk around town as myself," said Sirius sullenly.

Michaela felt a few moments sympathy for Sirius. _Poor guy, not being able to go out at all! It's just like being locked up in prison!_ _Well, it's better than Azkaban, at least._ Michaela ate the rest of her breakfast in silence.

After breakfast, Michaela went to one of the bathrooms to take a quick shower, though the mirror kept shouting out beauty advice as she cleaned herself up. "Scrub your face to get rid of those unsightly black heads . . . no, don't use that soap! Don't you know that soap's no good? It's Muggle soap! . . ."

She looked at herself in the mirror, ignoring the mirror itself. She had shoulder-length dirty-blond hair with hazel eyes. She liked the way she looked for the most part; she could be a bit taller in her opinion, but standing at 5'4 wasn't too bad height-wise.

Finally done and feeling completely refreshed, but for the clothes that she was still wearing, Michaela went downstairs again and met Sirius in the hallway.

Sirius looked at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. He shook his head and then said, "Michaela? Can I ask you to do something for me?"

"Sure, what?"

"Can you keep an eye on Harry for me?"

"What do you mean?" asked Michaela, confused. "I think that Harry's proven himself more than once that he's capable of taking care of himself." Michaela remembered all of the adventures that her mom had told her about Harry and his friends; if all the stories were true, Michaela certainly wouldn't mind having them around if she was ever in trouble.

"I know. But Harry also has a habit of not telling anyone when something's wrong. So far he's gotten out of whatever troubles he's been in, but I don't want him to keep putting faith in that."

"So you want me to spy on him?" Michaela felt a bit uneasy, she didn't want to be a snoop.

"No, just—just let me know if something serious happens that he won't tell me. I think that he thinks if something serious happens and if he tells me, I'll come barreling out to help him recklessly."

"You won't, will you?"

Sirius waved away the remark impatiently. "Of course not—unless he's in danger."

Michaela sighed. "Well, I guess so. But only for major things, okay? I don't like this idea, but I'll do it for Harry. Mom has told me about all the stuff he's been through."

"Thank you." Sirius smiled at her and Michaela couldn't help but notice that he really was attractive with his longish black hair. _Michaela! He's like twenty years older than you! Get a grip!_

"Michaela!" called Mrs. Weasley. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, I'll be there in a few minutes!" To Sirius she said, "How will I contact you though?"

"Through Owl post—no, it might be intercepted—Wait!" Sirius dashed off up the stairs. A minute later he came back with a grubby old mirror. "If you need to contact me, just call my name and I'll appear; I have the other mirror."

"Michaela, let's go!" called Mrs. Weasley again.

"Okay, but—"

"Not now, talk to me later when you get a chance, you better go."

Michaela hurried down to the door where Mrs. Weasley was waiting and called "Bye!" to Sirius as they left.

* * *

* * *

"Gave your old mirror to Michaela, Sirius?" asked Lupin.

"It's only for emergencies, Remus, you know how Harry is," Sirius protested.

"Are you so sure that it's purely for Harry's interest?" asked Lupin, shrewdly.

"Of course! What else would I-"

"Sirius, I saw how you looked at her. I'm just telling you, as your friend, to be careful. You're more than fifteen years her senior, Sirius!"

"Don't worry, Moony, I can keep my emotions in check, you know that."

Lupin stared at him.

"Okay, okay, so maybe that's not exactly true, but I can do it for this, don't worry!"

After giving Sirius another look, Lupin headed for the door as well, off to do guard duty for the Order.

Sirius looked at his other mirror. _Remus is right_, he thought. _It's just because I haven't gone out with other women in such a long time._

Even though there were women in Azkaban, it was hardly the place to talk to people, let alone date them. Had it been otherwise, he wouldn't have given Michaela a second look, or even a first, he told himself firmly. Or at least, that was what he convinced himself.


	5. Hogwarts

A/N: Revised as of July 28, 2005

* * *

**Chapter Five: Hogwarts **

Michaela and Mrs. Weasley walked out of Grimmauld Place to a less conspicuous location—while one could call the Knight Bus from virtually anywhere, it was better not to call attention to Grimmauld Place.

They walked down Custer Road for a few blocks, passing a park and what looked like an elementary school, or rather, as Michaela remembered the British school system, a "primary school." After walking for about fifteen minutes, Mrs. Weasley stopped and stuck out her wand. A moment later there was a loud BANG and the Knight Bus arrived.

Of course Michaela had heard of Knight Buses before, but had never ridden on any. It was a double-decker bus which gave Michaela a sort of thrill—she'd never been on one or seen one close up.

"To Hogwarts, please," said Mrs. Weasley stepping up.

"That'll be . . . erm, twenty Sickles for the both of yeh," said a wizard who didn't look too much older than Michaela herself. Michaela also noticed that it was harder to understand him because his accent had a more guttural tone to it.

Mrs. Weasley handed the money over as Michaela said, "I'll pay you back later . . . I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it dear." In an undertone, she added, "The Order has its own funds as well, you know."

"Are you an American then?" asked the wizard, ogling Michaela. She nodded. Before he could make another comment though, Mrs. Weasley whisked Michaela off to sit down.

There were plenty of chairs on the bus filled with various witches and wizards, but the chairs weren't bolted down. Therefore, the ride to Hogwarts was jerkier than any subway Michaela had ever been on. Each stop was abrupt, without warning, and Michaela fell off her seat two times before standing up, hands firmly attached to the rail. After the fourth stop, Mrs. Weasley joined her, standing.

"Is it always this jerky?" asked Michaela.

"Unfortunately, yes. Well, it's not all the conductor's fault; the bus has to maneuver around Muggle cars and buildings." True to what Mrs. Weasley said, Michaela looked out the window and saw the bus narrowly miss a huge dumpster in its effort to get ahead of the Muggle cars.

After about an hour (with repeated fallings of Michaela and Mrs. Weasley, despite their efforts to hold onto the rails), the conductor called out their stop and they walked out of the bus gratefully.

With another BANG, the bus was gone again ("Hope to see ya again Michaely!") and left them at the gates of Hogwarts.

Looking at her surroundings, Michaela couldn't help but cry out, "Oh, wow! It's so pretty!" Her mom had told her about Hogwarts, but she hadn't imagined that the grounds could be so big or so beautiful. Why, it made her feel as though she'd been transported back to the old-country England; certainly she'd never seen such sights in her hometown in California.

The rolling hills and the trees . . . and a lake and a forest . . . all with an enchanting castle in between . . .

The castle (for it couldn't be called anything else, in Michaela's opinion) was simply magnificent with its towers and turrets, almost as though it were out of a fairy tale. Just seeing it and feeling the wind rustle her hair made Michaela feel odd, she couldn't place quite place a feeling on it . . .

"It's the ages, Michaela. The people who have lived here; all of their experiences. You can feel all of it."

Michaela looked at Mrs. Weasley, startled. "Did I just talk out loud? I'm sorry."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Come on then."

They walked in silence to the main entrance door and Michaela reflected on what Mrs. Weasley had said. Yes, she could just imagine the grounds peppered with students, enjoying the sun, sitting by the lake, laughing and chattering. She felt a sudden pang of homesickness. She wished her friends were with her out here, basking in the sun and laughing and talking, with no worries. She closed her eyes, wishing, but wishes unfortunately do no good.

Mrs. Weasley and Michaela had just reached the main entrance steps when a woman who looked just past middle age opened the doors, standing serenely. She walked down the cemented steps to meet them.

"Hello Minerva," said Mrs. Weasley. "Michaela, this is Professor McGonagall; Minerva, this is Michaela Woodburn."

"Pleased to meet you," Michaela said politely. Michaela wasn't quite sure, but McGonagall looked like the kind of teacher that you didn't challenge or try to cross; there was no monkey business with this lady.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Woodburn. Professor Dumbledore has told me of your, erm, situation"—a look of sympathy came across her face and Michaela's opinion of her softened—"and has directed me to show you around before the other students arrive here for the start-of-term feast."

"Okay, sounds good."

"Michaela, would you like me to stay awhile longer with you?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"No, it's fine, but thanks for offering," said Michaela.

"Well, okay then, you be sure and write me if you need anything . . . and eat your breakfast!" she called as she went down off the steps.

Michaela laughed; Mrs. Weasley reminded her of her late grandmother who had felt that skipping a meal was second only to a mortal sin. She waved to Mrs. Weasley as she climbed up the steps with McGonagall through the entrance.

Once inside, Michaela gave another involuntary gasp of surprise. The first thought Michaela had was that it was so big—_No, gigantic and colossal fit the bill better_. During a second look, she noticed that there were several flaming torches hovering with no visible means of support, a plethora of animated portraits, and a marble floor was polished so that it was gleaming.

McGonagall gave her a small smile of amusement. "I take it you like our entrance hall?"

"Like it, it's wonderful! So big!" breathed Michaela. "I've never seen any entrance hall so big before, next to the Lincoln Memorial."

"The Lincoln Memorial?" asked McGonagall.

"Oh, it's just a monument in D.C. of one our past presidents who was key in keeping our nation together during the Civil War," quipped Michaela. She had learned something from her batty U.S. History teacher last year after all.

"Very . . . interesting, this way please." She led Michaela into another enormous room, but what amazed Michaela more about this one was that it looked like there was no ceiling, showing instead the weather outside. Even though it was sunny outside, Michaela didn't feel the heat of the rays and deduced that it must be bewitched to look like the outside instead.

"This is the Great Hall, where all the students and faculty eat," McGonagall said, waving her hand over the four long tables that were stretched across the hall. At the end of the tables on the other side was another long table facing the short way, where the faculty probably ate.

"So, one table for each house?" Michaela asked. McGonagall nodded. "So let's see, there's Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and . . . Huffpuff?"

"Hufflepuff, Miss Woodburn," corrected McGonagall. "Now I'm going to lead you to the Gryffindor Tower, which is where you'll stay while you're here. I believe Professor Dumbledore has gone up there as well to speak with you."

"Okay."

McGongall led Michaela up stairways, behind carpets, down stairways (which confused Michaela), and along corridors. They finally stopped in front of a picture of a rather fat lady in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she inquired.

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," replied McGonagall. The portrait swung forward to allow them to enter a tunnel and then it clicked for Michaela.

"Oh! So you use the portraits as guards who respond only to the correct passwords . . . that's clever!" remarked Michaela.

They climbed through the tunnel and came out into a room full of comfortable-looking armchairs and sofas.

"This is the Gryffindor Common Room where most of the students spend their time doing homework or relaxing."

It certainly looked relaxing—Michaela knew she couldn't wait to sink into one of the soft, plush chairs that looked like a version of La-Z Boy. As they stood there gazing at the room, the portrait opened again and Dumbledore came in.

"Good afternoon, Minerva, Michaela," he said, nodding to each of them.

"I'll be in my office if you need me, Albus, and you too, Miss Woodburn, should there be a reason that you need my assistance," said McGonagall as she crossed the room to go out the portrait hole.

"Please, please, sit down Michaela. I must say that these chairs are most comfortable," he said, eyes twinkling.

Michaela sank comfortably in a chair, though her thoughts had abruptly turned a one-eighty. With the sight of her uncle, her relative, all of her worries came tumbling back. It wasn't as though she'd completely forgotten what had happened, but she had managed to push it to the back of her mind during the trip on the Knight Bus and during McGonagall's tour.

"Any news, leads?" she asked, anxiously. She cast a look at Dumbledore's ring, which had now turned a pale red . . . whether that was a good sign or a bad one, Michaela didn't know and wasn't so sure that she wanted to know.

"A few of my contacts are on some leads right now, but I'm afraid that there's not much else to tell."

Disappointment flooded Michaela.

"But we do have hope and that is a magic beyond any other."

Reluctantly, Michaela nodded. "So until later I'll stay here?" Later meaning when her parents were found either alive or dead; Michaela couldn't bear to say the words.

"Yes, I thought it appropriate enough; you'll know that your mother was in Gryffindor years back," Dumbledore said.

"Yeah, she told me all about Hogwarts . . . but still, there's so much that I didn't know of—it's amazing!"

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm glad you like it already. I myself enjoy every year that I stay here." Dumbledore gave off a look of one remembering his fondest memories. "But onto other things. Since no one else but people of the Order are to know about your true reasons for staying here, I'll put you in Miss Granger (that is, Hermione Granger)'s dormitory. She was there at Grimmauld Place last night, when everyone woke up."

_On account of me_, Michaela thought glumly. She didn't relish meeting this Hermione again, after having bared her soul in front of Hermione and everyone else that was there to see.

"Though she is a fifth year and younger than you, I'm sure you'll find her and her friends quite companionable."

The thought that only people associated with the Order could know Michaela's real reasons for staying at Hogwarts had never occurred to her. "So wait, what'll I tell everyone; why I'm here?"

"You'll say simply enough that your parents were killed in a car accident and that you had nowhere to go. Since I'm your only living relative and you are underage in the Muggle world, we're hoping that the Ministry will believe and accept it."

"But how will I do my schoolwork and things?"

Dumbledore smiled again. "That took some long-hard thought. But I think I have found a solution. When you do your schoolwork, it will be transmitted to your teachers for them to grade, though they won't know that they are doing it—it's a more complicated form of a Memory charm."

"Well, that's all good and fine, but some classes I need notes and things from lectures."

"I've found a solution for that as well. Breaking a few dozen rules, I imagine, I have come up with a way that will enable you to view your classes through a projector of sorts in an unused classroom. You will be the only one who will have access to it, though, after the classes are done and the projections will only last for 24 hours."

Michaela was impressed. "Wow, you've really though this through. I suppose I'll do fine; I'm a good student and all . . . but it'll be strange, won't it? Being a squib among so many witches and wizards?"

"Yes, it will be awkward at first, almost everything is. But I'm sure that you, as well as everyone else, will be able to adjust to it." Dumbledore stood up and Michaela joined him.

"I have sent for your things and had them put in your dormitory up there." He pointed up a stairway off to the right. "You can go unpack if you wish and later I'll send up someone to escort you to the start-of-term feast." With that, he walked through the portrait tunnel and Michaela was left alone in the common room.

Still standing, Michaela went over to the stairway but then stopped. She walked back over to a chair and sat down in it, pulling out the mirror that Sirius had given her.

"Sirius?"


	6. Talks, sleep, and food

A/N: Revised as of July 30, 2005

* * *

**Chapter Six: Talks, Sleep, and Food**

"Sirius?"

Sirius' face appeared in the mirror. "Hey, Michaela!"

"Sirius, this mirror is really quite something . . . and nobody can intercept it?"

"Nope. James and I would've known because we used to use them whenever we were in separate detentions. Hard though our teachers tried, they never quite caught on what we were doing."

Michaela had to laugh at that. "Boys and their jokes . . ."

"Hang on, I'm a grown man right now!"

"Like I said, _boys_ and their jokes." Sirius pretended to look hurt, as Michaela started to laugh again. She couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to Sirius; it really was like he was her own age. _But he's _not_, remember, so don't get any ideas!_

"So! Um, how are you? Your mom make any more revelations about her true feelings?" Michaela said louder than normal in an effort to clear her thoughts.

Sirius chuckled. "No, not lately." His face became mock serious. "I can't believe I just laughed at something about my mother."

"Was she really that bad?" Michaela asked. Her relationship with her own mother was fairly good, it had its ups and downs, but only those typical of a teenager-mother relationship.

"Yes. She was. She had crazy notions about 'pure Wizarding blood' and was extremely hard to get along with. I finally ran away at age sixteen and lived with the Potters for a year."

_So young!_ Michaela couldn't imagine leaving her family at that age. "I'm sorry" was all she could think of to say.

"No, don't. I'm not. The only thing now that I regret is that I have to stay in the house that I've hated so much."

They were both silent for a few seconds when Michaela changed the subject, saying, "Well, I'm just about all settled here at Hogwarts. Uncle Albus has arranged for me to stay in—what was her name?—Hermione Granger's dormitory in the Gryffindor Tower."

"That's great! Hermione's a nice girl—and you'll be able to keep an eye on Harry for me."

"You'll remember what I said, right?" Michaela said sternly.

"Yes, yes, of course. It's just for Harry's own good, are we agreed?"

"Yeah, I s'pose."

"So, say you want to meet about once a week around this time?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Michaela said. "Well, I'm going to unpack now so I'll see ya . . ."

"Bye."

Sirius' face vanished from the mirror. Michaela headed for the winding stairs up to her new home.

Inside were six beds with curtains around them like on a "princess" type bed that you typically see in little girls' rooms. Michaela loved it; there was just something very exotic about them.

Spying a trunk next to the farthest bed with cornflower blue curtains (Michaela's favorite color), she walked over and opened it up. In it were her clothes, personal items, and even her schoolbooks. When Uncle Albus said he'd get her stuff, he really meant it!

There weren't any dresser drawers around, but there was a closet. Opening it up, she found black robes hanging there as a note fell out. Robes? What was she going to wear? Robes were more of a Wizarding fashion and since she attended a Muggle school, Michaela naturally wore Muggle clothes. She did have one black robe but it was very old and was fraying at the bottom.

Picking up the note, she started to read:

_Michaela, _

_I know that you don't have many, if any Wizarding robes, so I have taken the liberty of providing you with your own set. You are, of course, welcome to wear your own clothes as you are not an "official" student of Hogwarts._

_Uncle Albus_

"Wow," Michaela said aloud. She stood there for a moment, feeling so . . . so taken care of. Michaela truly felt at that moment that everything would be alright. The best man in the world to look for her parents was on the case and in the meantime she would be safe here. No, even better, someone was looking out for her, even if she didn't need that much looking after.

Snapping out of her reverie, she focused on the problem of what to wear. No, she wasn't a Hogwarts student strictly, and she didn't much care for uniforms (they often looked almost cult-like and as though part of your identity was stripped away), but Michaela also didn't want to draw more attention than the amount that she knew she was already going to get. _Besides_, she reasoned, _I can still wear my regular clothes most of the time. I don't think Uncle Albus would really go to the trouble of buying them if he didn't want me to wear them_.

With the matter settled, Michaela finally had a chance to change her now definite wrinkly clothing into something fresh. She sprawled on the bed once more and pulled out her summer reading book that she had been interrupted with previously. By this time she was very hungry, (and very grateful that Mrs. Weasley had made her eat breakfast; it was now past three o' clock) but after awhile the feather bed claimed her sleepy mind and her stomach was forced to wait a few hours before it could be satisfied.

"Michaela Woodburn, miss, Michaela Woodburn, you must get up!"

"Hm?" Michaela was being shaken awake.

"It is almost time for the feast, miss!"

Michaela opened her eyes. Standing over her was a . . . a house-elf? Her parents didn't have one, but she had seen them before. "Who're you?"

"My name is Dobby, miss. Professor Dumbledore has sent me to fetch you to go to the Great Hall because the feast will be starting soon, miss."

"Okay, okay, I'm getting up." She stood up and stretched her arms.

"Are you ready for Dobby to take you to the feast miss? Dobby knows the way."

"Um, yeah, I guess. Hey Dobby? How do I look?"

"Dobby does not know what you mean, miss."

"I mean, do I look presentable? Is my hair screwed up from when I was sleeping?"

"Your hair does not have screws in it, miss. Dobby cannot see any."

"That's not what I—oh never mind. It's fine, I'm okay." Wishing for a mirror even still, Michaela said, "Okay, Dobby, please lead the way."

They walked through the common room and out the portrait door. Michaela tried to remember the route that they were taking to the Great Hall but gave up after the fourth staircase that they had either gone up or down. _I'll get it eventually__, though this is worse than the first day at high school_.

"So, do you like Hogwarts, Dobby?" Michaela asked, trying to make conversation.

"Oh, yes miss, Dobby loves it here! Professor Dumbledore has been so kind letting me on and paying me—"

"You get paid? Wow, I guess things have changed since I've been in the Wizarding world or maybe it's just Britain because I thought that house-elves were literally slaves to their masters."

"This is still true miss! Harry Potter has helped Dobby get his freedom three years ago, miss! Hogwarts is the only place Dobby will get paid."

"Oh, that's great, I guess. Are there any other free house-elves, Dobby?"

"There is Winky, miss, but she is still pining over her old master, miss."

"That's too bad," Michaela said.

It seemed strange that Dobby was so happy about his freedom. From what Michaela knew, house-elves were supposedly completely devoted to their masters. Maybe Dobby's master was cruel . . . but anyway, Michaela felt glad to know that there was at least one house-elf who enjoyed his freedom.

The whole idea of slavery, even though it was to a non-human made Michaela feel a bit sick. Being a very independent-minded person, she was at a loss to understand why anyone would be completely willing to be a slave.

At last they reached the Great Hall which was now filled with a sea of black robes worn by the students. Michaela felt immediately out of place, despite the robes that she had hurriedly put on just a few minutes ago.

Standing in the doorway, Michaela looked down to ask Dobby where she should sit but Dobby was gone. Feeling even more nervous, Michaela took a few steps forward hesitantly when an elderly-looking witch with dirt stains across her front approached Michaela.

"Are you Michaela Woodburn?" she asked. She had a kind face that Michaela warmed up to.

"Yes. Um, who are you?"

"My name is Professor Sprout, dear. Professor Dumbledore has told me about your tragic situation and has asked me to have you sit with Miss Granger, so if you'll follow me please."

She led Michaela down one of the long tables to Hermione and . . . Harry? The boy turned around and Michaela saw the scar on his forehead; it was Harry.

"Miss Granger? Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley? This is Michaela Woodburn. She will be staying in the Gryffindor Tower with you for awhile and I trust you'll help her out and show her around, won't you?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione said. "Come sit here, Michaela."

Gratefully, Michaela sat down. There was no chance for conversation, though, because a line of extremely scared-looking kids had just walked in, following Professor McGonagall. They looked rather young too.

"They're first years," Hermione whispered.

_Oh yeah_, thought Michaela. _And they'll be sorting them _. . .

Professor McGonagall walked forward, carrying a stool and a very old, battered hat. She set them both down and then the hat opened at the brim where there was a rather large hole and began to sing. It was a bit of a surprise for Michaela to watch at first, but she took it in stride.

_It must be the sorting hat!_ She listened to it sing. It sang of the four houses that the first years would be sorted into, but then it went on to give advice about school unity and loyalty against "deadly foes."

_Voldemort? Can a hat be smart enough to know about such things? _Michaela was puzzled. _Well, it's the magical world, Michaela_, she told herself. _Just about anything's possible, I suppose._

When the song ended, there was applause, but it seemed deterred by mutters and whisperings of the students.

"Branched out a bit this year, hasn't it?" Ron said.

"Too right it has," Harry answered.

"I wonder if it's ever given warnings at all?" asked Hermione.

A ghost glided towards her, saying, "The hat feels itself honor-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feels—"

But he was cutoff by Professor McGonagall who was giving the "eye" to the students. After all the conversations had stopped, she called out the first years' names. They each walked forward and put on the hat, which shouted the house that they were sorted into.

Michaela knew that it was mean, but it was kind of fun to watch the kids who were almost all terrified. At her school, it was easy to pick out the freshmen on the first day of school because most of them had that "scared rabbit look" to them. Of course Michaela was nice and pointed out which way to go to their classes if they were lost but it was still amusing for her to see them.

_Oh, crap. That's gonna be _me_ when I get lost. At least I won't look scared._

When the sorting was finally over, Dumbledore stood, arms open warmly, and said, "To our newcomers, welcome! To our old hands—welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it! Tuck in!"

Even Michaela laughed as everyone clapped and started to dig in for the tables were suddenly filled with food. It all looked great but there were a few dishes that Michaela didn't recognize. Eager to try them, she spooned a bit of everything on her plate.

She was literally starving for food, though apparently not as much as Ron, who was gorging down his food as though he hadn't eaten in a week. Michaela and Hermione both shared a look of disgust until they saw each other making the same face and burst out laughing together. Yes, Hogwarts wouldn't be such a bad place to live.

There was conversation during the meal, but Michaela was content enough to listen. It was so interesting for her to hear the different types of British accents and even some with Irish accents. That and she wanted to better her listening skills because she wasn't quite to the point where she could understand everything all at once. Some people were very hard to make out because their accents were so thick; hopefully she'd be able to get the hang of them before long.

By the time all of the plates were cleared, Michaela was pleasantly content, in mind and stomach (her soul was understandably not in the highest spirits). Gradually the Great Hall became louder with the students' conversations, but they were all suddenly halted.

Looking around to see what was going on, Michaela saw her uncle getting to his feet.


	7. Tensions

A/N: Revised as of July 31, 2005

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Tensions**

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast," Dumbledore said, "I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices.

"First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students—and a few of our older students ought to know by now too.

"Mr. Filch, our caretaker has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred and sixty-second time (_Somebody has no life_, smirked Michaela), to remind you all magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher."

The students clapped, but Michaela could tell that it was more out of politeness rather than enthusiasm.

"We also have a student who will be staying with us for awhile, Michaela Woodburn. I'm sure you'll do everything to make her feel at home. Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the—" but Dumbledore was stopped by a clear "Hem, hem."

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—Professor Umbridge?—was apparently about to make a speech.

Upon closer inspection, Michaela couldn't find any adjective to describe her that was flattering. This woman reminded her of a toad, actually, and her hideous pink cardigan did not make matters better.

"Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome." She talked in the type of voice that one hears from middle schoolers squealing over gossip about boys. Moreover, it sounded as though she thought that all the students were about five years old and thus needed to be talked down to.

Professor Umbridge began to speak about Hogwarts and education in general. To Michaela's ears she sounded as though she kept contradicting herself. 'Encouraging progress' . . . but then not 'for the sake of it' . . . _What? You should only move forward,_ Michaela thought._ There's nothing wrong in trying new techniques for the sake of it—that's how discoveries are made. Of course they don't always work out, but you don't stop trying._

By this point, most of the students seemed to have lost attentiveness to Professor Umbridge. In fact, the noise level was rising again, little however Professor Umbridge noticed. At the end of her speech there was only a spatter of applause as most people were unaware that the speech had ended.

"Thank you very much Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," Dumbledore said. "Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held next week. The Gryffindor captain has informed me that they are in need of a new Keeper and Hufflepuff—"

"I said it was illuminating, not enjoyable," Hermione was saying, as Michaela turned her attention to the table.

"Did it? Sounded like a load of waffle to me," said Harry, surprised.

"There was some important stuff hidden in that waffle," Hermione said grimly.

"Was there?" Ron asked.

"How about 'progress for progress' sake must be discouraged'? How about 'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited'?"

"Yeah, I was a bit like, what?" Michaela said. "A lot of her speech was contradictory."

"Well, anyway, what does it mean?" Ron asked impatiently.

"I'll tell you what it means," Hermione said darkly. "It means that the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts."

"Why would they—" but Michaela was cut off as all the students were all dismissed and were trying to get out of the Great Hall.

Jumping up, Hermione said, "Ron, we're supposed to show the first years where to go!"

"Oh yeah," Ron said, rather unenthused. "Hey—hey you lot! Midgets!"

"Ron!"

"Well, they are, they're titchy . . ."

"I know, but you can't call them midgets . . . first years! This way, please." Hermione turned to Michaela. "You can come with me and I'll show you where everything is."

She led the first years out of the hall and took them to a quieter area. "Alright, listen up please, first years," Hermione said bossily. "My name is Hermione Granger and this is Ron Weasley," she said. "We're the Gryffindor prefects this year and if you ever need help or need to report any misbehavior, you should come to us."

The first years looked at her like kittens seeing their mother.

"Right, so I think we should all introduce ourselves and maybe play the name game—"

"Hermione!" protested Ron. "We don't need to play the name game! I want to go to bed sometime this year!"

Hermione looked flustered. "Fine, fine, okay. This way please." She led them through the school to the Gryffindor Tower and Michaela started to recognize the path they were taking. Hermione kept up a running commentary along the way.

"Now Hogwarts is a big school with lots of surprises everywhere. I would highly recommend that you go with a buddy for the first few weeks . . ."

_I guess Hermione will be my 'buddy' for at least a few weeks as well_. They reached the portrait of the fat lady.

"Now as you may know, in order to get into the common room and your dormitories, you have to know the password. There are no exceptions, the fat lady won't let you in unless you know it, so be sure to ask before going out the portrait hole," Hermione explained. "For now, the password is 'Mimbulus Mimbletonia.'"

On cue, the portrait swung forward and the first years climbed through after Hermione. Inside the common room were only a few students; most of them had apparently gone to bed.

Hermione was now showing the first years to their rooms. ". . . right over there and don't forget that breakfast is at eight o'clock sharp!"

As the first years headed up to their respective rooms, Hermione turned to Ron. "Well, I think that went well for the most part, but you could've helped me out a little bit—"

"Hermione! You didn't let me get in a word edge-wise; you kept talking and wouldn't stop—"

"Hey, let's all go to bed, huh?" said Michaela, breaking up the impending fight. "We're all tired, I expect."

Ron and Hermione still looked a bit peeved at each other, but agreed to go to bed.

"Good night, Ron," called Michaela as she and Hermione went up to their rooms. When they got there, she saw four other girls settling in.

"Hi everybody, this is Michaela Woodburn, she'll be staying with us in our room for awhile."

They looked at her curiously, but said polite "hello"'s as Hermione introduced them to Michaela.

"Are you an American?" asked one of the girls after Michaela said her "hello"'s back.

"Yeah, I'm from California."

"Oh, wow that's brilliant!" Parvati said.

"Are you on an exchange trip from your school?" said Lavender.

"Not exactly. I'm staying here because I'm Uncle Albus' niece."

"But why are you—"

Hermione cut in. "I think we should get to bed, it's been a long day."

"No, it's okay, Hermione," Michaela said. "The truth is that my parents were killed in a car accident." Somehow the lie made her real situation seem less dangerous; it was as though by fooling the world that her parents were dead gave her confidence that her parents weren't—or would be—dead.

"Oh, I'm so sorry . . ." Lavender trailed off.

The others chorused their sympathies as well and Michaela said, "Well, I do miss them terribly, but life goes on." Did that sound a bit too uncaring as though she wasn't mourn her parents properly? Quickly, she added, "It was awhile ago, anyway."

Parvati changed the subject. "So will you be taking classes with us and all?"

Michaela and Hermione looked at each other. "Erm . . . not exactly. You see, I'm a Squib." The other girls looked startled but quickly regained their composure.

"What are you going to do then, if you can't do magic?" Parvati asked.

"Well, I'm going to be doing my normal schoolwork like I do at my old Muggle school." Seeing their puzzled looks, she added, "Well, I really have nowhere else to go because Uncle Albus is my only living relative besides Uncle Aberforth and Uncle Aberforth is, well, not totally "there" all the time, if you know what I mean. And it's only for a year, anyway."

Satisfied with that explanation, the girls returned to their unpacking and Michaela joined them.

"Did you hear about the Wizengamot, Parvati?" Lavender was saying. "They sacked Dumbledore because they said he wasn't up to the job anymore, no offense to you, Michaela, but I really think that it's because of Dumbledore's insistence that You-Know-Who is back, which is utter nonsense, if you ask me."

"What?" asked Michaela. "You don't believe that? I thought it was common knowledge that Ol' Voldie's back."

All of the girls gasped at Michaela's light reference to Voldemort. "What, didn't you guys know?" She turned to Hermione. "I thought that Dumbledore told the school about his re-birth after the Triwizard tournament."

"That doesn't mean it's true!" Lavender said. "All Dumbledore had was Harry's word, which, in my opinion, isn't worth much—"

"Excuse me?" Hermione said, hands on hips, starting to look angry.

"I know you guys are good friends, Hermione, but you can't pretend that he's not always out for attention—"

"No he's not! He's—"

"Look at the Triwizard tournament!" shouted Lavender. "He put his name in when he wasn't supposed to and somehow got Diggory killed—" she stopped as she realized that she had crossed the line.

Hermione's face was splotched with patches of red and her hands were clenched shut, shaking slightly. In a gritted voice, she said, "Shut your big fat mouth. Not another word."

Lavender opened her mouth to protest but Hermione said, "I can give you detention if you don't. I'm a prefect." With that, Hermione strode over to her bed and closed the curtains forcibly.

The other girls looked shocked at Hermione's behavior but Lavender just looked plain mad. But she too decided not to further discuss the subject and went to bed.

Michaela didn't quite feel that this wasn't the best time to ask where the bathroom was so she could brush her teeth and so she instead quietly went to bed herself along with the other girls after uttering a "Good-night" to everyone.

No one answered her


	8. Classes

A/N: Revised as of August 4, 2005

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Classes**

"Time to wake up, no more tarrying on in your dreams . . ." a voice sang.

"Wha?" Michaela rolled on her bed.

" . . . for school is awaiting and breakfast you need . . ."

_Ack! I'm stuck at Grandma's house! No, wait a minute_. Michaela opened her eyes and remembered where she was, Hogwarts. But what was that annoying voice?

"Morning, Michaela. I set your alarm for seven; you can adjust it if it's too late or too early."

Slowly Michaela sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Hermione?"

"Yeah, it's me, did you have a nice sleep?"

Michaela tried to focus. "Um, yeah." She yawned but stood up automatically to start stretching. "Seven am, huh? Kinda harsh on these getting-up-at-eleven am bones of mine."

Hermione laughed. "Imagine getting up at 6am just to do your make-up and hair like the rest of the girls."

"To hell with that!" But then Michaela amended her statement. "Well, I might put on some light make-up, but certainly not if it means that I have to get up an hour earlier."

"I don't really wear make-up because it takes too much time and can be such a bother."

"Yeah, true. But just enough can work wonders sometimes. Anyway, what was that "alarm"?"

Hermione chuckled. "Corny, isn't it? Everyone has the same song that will sing louder and louder each time if you don't wake up. Luckily, only the recipient can hear it, so that's why you don't hear anyone else's."

"Well, it's better than the grating noise that my old alarm makes." Getting dressed, Michaela headed for the bathroom after Hermione pointed it out.

She found herself in a large bathroom with five sinks and mirrors as well as some stalls. It was squeaky clean—Michaela could even see her reflection slightly on the polished marble floor. Lavender and Parvati were engrossed in front of their mirrors, meticulously applying make-up.

Heading for the furthest mirror and sink, Michaela washed her face and brushed her teeth. Feeling very refreshed, Michaela headed back to the bedchamber.

"Ready to head to breakfast?" Hermione asked as she adjusted her schoolbag.

"Um, yeah, hold on." Michaela rummaged through her trunk, looking her backpack. She found it, filled with her schoolbooks. Pulling out her planner, she found that Dumbledore had given her specific instructions inside but there would be time enough to read them later.

Swinging her own backpack over her shoulder, she headed out with Hermione to breakfast. Breakfast in the Great Hall was a bit unnerving for Michaela's first morning. She that wizards used owls for mail, but didn't expect about a hundred of them to come suddenly swooping through the hall.

Fred—or was it George?—laughed as she covered her head. "It's only the post, Michaela."

"Uh, right," she said, uncovering her head, now feeling a bit embarrassed.

The rest of the of breakfast passed uneventfully unless you counted the twins' accounts of their fifth year O.W.L.'s which, by all accounts, sounded worse than the SAT and ACT tests that Michaela had taken in her junior year.

After breakfast, they headed up for their first class, which was History of Magic. A ghost named Professor Binns taught it and while that caught Michaela's interest at first, she became bored out of her mind after about five minutes. She picked up her planner to see what Dumbledore had written her.

_Michaela_, he wrote,

_I will convey all of your assignments in this planner, both classroom and homework. If you look through the planner, you will see that there is a section marked for each of your classes_--Michaela saw several colored tags attached—_and within those a sort of projection (as Muggles might say) that will give you a 3D image of your classes. This projection is obviously not life-sized, but is big enough for you to see everything that is going on. Unfortunately, you won't be able to take your yearbook class_--What? Crap! I can't believe this! My senior year . . . No yearbook . . . Oh, God, what am I going to do? Maybe once Mom and Dad get back (Michaela hadn't let herself think "if they got back"), they can put a Memory Charm or something like that on Mrs. Fogherty.

It was only a temporary measurement, Michaela assured herself, but how much of her senior year in high school would she have to miss? Football games were starting now and she knew that Homecoming was in a matter of weeks. Waves of self-pity flushed through her and she felt bad enough to cry.

_Stop that! Stop that, you hear? Your parents are in Voldemort's hands and all you can think about are your stupid football games. The whole world may be taken over by an evil wizard and you—_

So I'm not supposed to think of myself, is that it? another piece of her mind argued. What about me?

_Yeah, you think about yourself, but you don't go wallowing in self-pity. You can't change your present situation; all you can do now is work with what you have . . . and what you have is worth more than ten homecoming dances or a hundred football games--you've got love, health, safety, and a chance to attend a school that others will never set foot inside. All of that and you still want more?_

Damn! That conscience of mine, Michaela thought. These mind arguments always left her feeling guilty. Sure they were almost always right and she was much the better for them but they still irritated her. Sighing, she turned back to Dumbeldore's letter.

—_your yearbook class, TA, and ceramics class. You may well choose to do nothing in their stead, but I am granting you the opportunity to take a class at Hogwarts. Now before you think that your old uncle has lost his mind_—Not likely, though Michaela, smiling, despite herself. The day Dumbledore loses his mind would be the day that Usama bin Laden becomes an American citizen—_just read on. Not all classes at Hogwarts require a person to naturally possess magic within them, namely History of Magic, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Study of the Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. I suggest you pay attention to these classes for the first few days and decide if you would like to take any. If you have any questions, Miss Granger can direct you to my office. The password is "Butterbeer" (Please use your discretion in the use of this information)._

Albus Dumbledore 

_Wow, _Michaela thought. _Imagine me, a Squib, taking classes at Hogwarts_! It didn't make up for missing part of her senior year, but it was also no small consolation prize. She'd dreamed of taking classes at a Wizarding school when she was little. Granted that she wasn't actually going to do magic—that'd be impossible—learning about related subjects genuinely interested her.

Then her past memories of teasing suddenly descended down upon her. _It's not going to be like that_, she told herself firmly. _And if it is, I can take it and dish it back out. I'm older now, without my total self-consciousness about being a Squib_.

With that comforting thought, the signal sounded for class to end. Michaela put her planner back in her bag and joined Hermione who was arguing with Ron and Harry about taking notes.

". . . you'd deserve it. You don't even try to listen to him, do you?"

"We do try," Ron said indignantly. "We just haven't got your brains or your memory or your concentration—you're just cleverer than we are—is it nice to rub it in?"

"Oh, don't give me that rubbish."

"Hey, uh, guess what," Michaela said, sensing an end to the argument. "Uncle Albus is going to let me take classes at Hogwarts!"

"Wow, that's great!" Harry said. "But how, if—"

"Not classes that require magic, just things like Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and Herbology. I'm going to come today to see if I like them."

"Like Potions? You've never met Snape, you just wait, Michaela," Ron said darkly.

They trudged through the hallways discussing Snape. From what Michaela picked out, Snape was either just a very hard teacher or just plain mean—it depended upon whose version you believed—Hermione's or Ron and Harry's.

They met a Hogwarts student along the way named Cho, who Harry had an obvious crush on. Ron did kind of spoil their conversation by going on about how she supported some superficial Quidditch team and Hermione let him have it after Cho left.

"You are so tactless!"

"What? I only asked her if—"

Another argument? _Jeez!_ Michaela fell into step behind the bickering couple with Harry. "Do they always fight like this?" she asked Harry.

"Yeah," he said gloomily.

"You know, that might be a sign . . . maybe they have a thing for each other."

Harry burst out laughing. "Hermione and Ron? No, of course not."

"Well, if you say so . . ."

They finally reached the dungeons. Michaela set her backpack by Hermione's table in the back and looked around for Snape. After a quick search, she found no one who looked old enough to qualify. She did, however, catch looks from the other students. One guy with blond hair went so far as to point and snicker at her.

_Okay. First test._ Michaela ignored the boy, pretending she hadn't seen him pointing to her, until he strode over to her, flanked by two football player-sized students.

"Get lost, Malfoy," Ron said immediately.

"Manners, Weasley. I just wanted to meet your new little _friend_," said the boy, saying "friend" as though it were something nasty. "The rumor is that she's just a filthy Squib."

Harry and Ron started to make a move towards him, but Michaela stopped them by saying, "Yes, you heard correctly, but I have a name, you know. Michaela Woodburn, and may I ask as to why you seem to have an attitude problem?"

"I really don't want to be seen conversing with a Squib, Michael," he drawled.

Michael! She hated that name. Keeping her cool, "It's Michaela, if you didn't catch it. I'm also sorry to hear that you cannot sink yourself so low as to be a decent human being and treat me with dignity, but you know, to each their own."

The two boys around the blond-haired boy, while large in size, seemed to have opposite sizes in intellectual competency because they just gave her blank stares. The boy, however, didn't.

"Listen you—"

"Leave her alone, Malfoy." Harry stepped up once again beside Michaela.

"Make me."

What promised to be a huge tussle quickly evaporated as the door to the dungeon was shut and a tall figure walked inside. The students went to their seats quickly, except for Michaela who stood, staring at the teacher.

"Mr. Snape? I'm—"

"That's _Professor_ Snape, girl, and I suggest you go to your seat. I will speak with you later I trust that was not a fight that I almost witnessed?"

"No, just some friendly introductions, sir." With that, Michaela sat down in a chair as Snape explained the day's lesson as well as Potion O.W.L.'s. After dismissing the class to make the Draught of Peace (which the boy named Neville looked as though he needed) Michaela once again strode towards Snape.

"Yes?"

"Well, I thought I'd introduce myself as Uncle Albus said that I could take a few non-magical classes at Hogwarts—"

"Are you insinuating that to make a potion is not a magic in itself? I would not expect for you, having lived among Muggles, to know how exact or artfully this task must be done—"

"Well, I've made smoothies before."

Snape looked disgusted. "If you wish to attend a Potions class, you will have to do so at the first year level and you will not get any special treatment, do you understand?"

"Yeah, thanks, I'll think about it." _Whoa! Somebody's got a bug up their ass._ She headed back to Hermione. "Is there a reason why Snape dislikes me?"

"No, don't worry. That's just the way Snape is," Hermione assured.

"But . . . why?"

"Well, he's Head of Slytherin and we're in Gryffindor, but he especially doesn't like us because we're friends of Harry."

"And . . .?"

"Harry's dad and Snape were rivals when they went to Hogwarts together," Hermione supplied.

"But, that's um, really stupid, isn't it?"

"Don't think I haven't said that either," Harry said, joining the conversation. But it was hastily stopped as Snape started to walk around the classroom, inspecting the students' potions.

By the end of the class, Michaela was bored out of her mind. She couldn't help anyone since the students were getting a grade for the potion nor could she do her own schoolwork because frankly, there was nowhere to do it. The tables were littered with ingredients and the floor looked exceptionally dingy. She wanted to go to the library, but didn't know the way and couldn't ask Hermione to take while Hermione was occupied with her potion.

Michaela was relieved when the bell rang for lunch. It was a quiet affair; Harry was mad (and rightfully so) at Snape who had given him a zero and so he left half-way through lunch after Ron and Hermione had another argument.

Tired of their arguments as well, she got directions to the library and decided to see what she could do about doing her schoolwork.


	9. Revelations

A/N: Revised as of August 4, 2005

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Revelations**

Hermione had pointed Michaela out in the direction of the library and Michaela found it easily enough. She was about to listen to first period's course outline when she realized she had no pens or paper; just her books.

Asking the librarian (who seemed rather unfriendly for a librarian) for directions, she cautiously made her way back to the Gryffindor Tower without getting lost once.

"Password?" inquired the fat lady.

"Hey, do you have a name?" The fat lady looked surprised.

"Well, yes, it's Elizabeth. Not many people have asked me that though; I'm just a way to get into their dorm rooms."

"You must be very patient to deal with everyone coming and going, huh?"

Elizabeth brought herself up proudly. "Yes, not everyone can do this job." She then added scornfully, "Especially like that Sir Cadogen that replaced me for awhile when that horrid Sirius Black tried to get in."

"Oh, I heard about that," Michaela said, hiding a smile. "Anyway, it was nice talking to you; _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_."

"You too, dearie!" she called after Michaela as Michaela headed through the portrait door."

Heading upstairs, she found her shared room and went over to her trunk.

"Michaela?"

Michaela turned around, but couldn't see anyone. "Hello? Who's there?"

"It's Sirius, in the mirror."

Michaela rummaged through her trunk and found the mirror, now with Sirius' reflection on it.

"Uh, hi," she said. "Is there anything wrong?"

"Oh, no, just rather bored right now. How's Harry?"

"He's good . . ." Michaela wondered whether she should tell him about how Snape treated him unfairly earlier, but then decided against it and asked him another question. "How did you know I was here?"

"Well, I've been calling your name every now and then this morning and this time I heard some noise that I thought might be you," he said.

"But what if it wasn't? Someone else could have been in here and found out—"

"Who else would be up here at this hour?" he asked.

_He's got a point, but still_. Michaela sighed. "Just be careful, huh? It could hurt me same as you since most people don't know that you're really innocent."

Guilt crossed Sirius' face. "I know, I'm just . . . lonely, I guess."

"Isn't there anyone there at your house?"

"Well, the Order of the Phoenix comes and goes during the day, but I'm all by myself for the most part, except for Kreacher and my mother's lovely portraits."

"Creature? What's that?"

Sirius explained about his house-elf, who had been corrupted by Sirius' parents. "He's always lurking around, muttering insults under his breath. I can't free him because he knows too much about the Order of the Phoenix; otherwise, I'd've gotten rid of him long before now."

_Poor Sirius!_ "I'm sorry, Sirius. It must be awful staying there. I would probably go nuts in your place."

Sirius stayed quiet for a moment, brooding, but then perked up. "Well, at least the long-distance company is pleasant. How's Hogwarts going for you?"

Michaela told him the morning's events and Malfoy's insults to her. He laughed uproariously when she told him her comeback. "That's the way! Don't let them bring you down. Of course, if it were James and I, we would hex him, but your words have enough sting in them to make up for it."

"You really hexed people?"

"Of course! Snape was our prime target but there were other people who got the short end—"

He was interrupted by the bell that rang for the next class.

"Oh, crap! I've got to get back to the library; Hermione will be waiting for me. I'll talk to you later, bye!" She shoved the mirror back in the trunk, grabbing a notebook and some pens and pencils before running out to the portrait hole.

She stopped at the entrance of Gryffindor Tower, realizing she didn't know exactly how to get back to the library again. "Elizabeth! Hey, how do you get back to the library?"

The fat lady told her in quick detail and Michaela headed off, speed walking to the library. To her relief, she spotted Hermione checking out a book at the front-desk in the library.

"Get a lot of work done?" she asked Michaela.

"Um, yeah," Michaela lied. "Which class do you have next?

"Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Umbridge."

"That lady who gave the funky speech?"

"Yes. Are you going to come?"

Michaela considered. "Yeah, why not? I'll just come to see what it's like, even if I can't do magic."

They walked down to the classroom and met Harry and Ron there. Michaela settled for a seat in the back since she wasn't an actual student.

When the classroom was filled, Professor Umbridge addressed them. "Well, good afternoon!"

There were a few half-hearted replies.

"Tut, tut. That won't do now, will it? I should like you, please to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

_What was this? Kindergarten?_ The class repeated it back to her.

"There now, that wasn't too difficult was it?" she said, in her annoying preschool voice. "Wands away and quills out please." The class gave a collected sigh, as did Michaela.

_No action today, I s'pose_. As the rest of the class started writing down the course aims, Michaela reached for her planner. She looked through the homework tabs.

Pre-Calculus: Section 1-1 #1-22; 25-27

Michaela was good in math and her textbook usually gave good enough explanations so that she didn't need that much help from her teacher. Getting out her book, she started to read through the lesson.

Silence filled the room as the students were assigned to read chapter one in their books. After several minutes passed, however, Michaela noticed that Hermione had her hand up in the air with more than half the class staring at her.

Professor Umbridge reluctantly acknowledged her. "Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?"

"Not about the chapter, no," Hermione said.

"Well, we're just reading right now. If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class."

Hermione cut in, "I've got a query about your course aims."

"And your name is—d?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge, her voice extra sugary.

"Well, I don't. There's nothing up there about _using_ defensive spells."

A silence followed before Professor Umbridge answered. "_Using_ defensive spells? Why I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that require you to _use_ a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You sure aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

Michaela raised her hand as Ron said loudly, "We're not going to use magic?"

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.--"?

"Weasley." Ron put his hand up in the air, but Professor Umbridge turned to Michaela instead.

"Yes, Miss _Woodburn_, I presume?"

"Well, when you say that we don't expect to be attacked in class, that doesn't mean that we won't get attacked elsewhere, does it? Life is unexpected like that."

"Well, Miss Woodburn, is that what they teach you in those—" she gave a simpering giggle. "—Muggle schools that Squibs attend?" She said the word "Squib" as though it was something beneath her.

"Surely you're not insinuating that the quality of my education is sub-par, are you?"

Professor Umbridge giggled again. "Now when did I say that? I merely thought that your philosophy was silly and wondered where you could have gotten it from."

Professor Umbridge turned to answer another student while Michaela was flabbergasted. She had never been so bluntly "burned" (as her friends would say) by another adult. It was quickly replaced with great loathing of Professor Umbridge.

The students remained incredulous of her answers that they would not use any magic in the class and her refusal that they would not be attacked anywhere, but with Harry they struck a nerve.

They got into a shouting match (or rather, Harry shouting and Professor Umbridge simpering) that made it clear that Professor Umbridge didn't believe that Voldemort was back.

_What is up with this?_ She stood up. "What is with you guys not believing that Voldemort is back?" Several students gasped out loud. "I would've thought it obvious that Mr. Big Bad V is back; my uncle wouldn't make something up like this—that's just ridiculous and exactly what is silly about _your_ philosophy, Professor Umbridge!"

Professor Umbridge's mouth twitched before she answered Michaela. "Miss Woodburn, I forgive your statements since you are the Headmaster's niece, but if you continue on, you will join Mr. Potter in detention."

_The nerve of that woman!_ But Michaela knew when to stop and sat down, promising herself a long talk with her uncle. Unfortunately, Harry didn't know when to stop.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord?" Michaela could see that he was shaking with anger.

_Harry, Harry. You can't let her get to you! _

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," Professor Umbridge said coldly.

"It was murder. Voldemort killed him and you know it." For a moment, Michaela thought that Professor Umbridge was going to yell at Harry, but she retained her composure and looked triumphant. "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."

_She's just like me!_ Michaela realized with a jolt. _She can keep her head even if she's angry. Well, well. We'll have to see who can outlast the other; two can play at this game_.

Professor Umbridge wrote out a note and sent Harry to see McGonagall. With that, the class remained silent until the bell rang.

Gathering her books, Michaela tried to catch up with Hermione and Ron, but lost them in the crowd of students in the hallway. "Damn." She decided to go visit her uncle instead of heading back to the Gryffindor Tower.

After asking a student for directions, she found herself in front of a gargoyle. "Butterbeer," she said clearly. The stone gargoyle sprang to life (uncannily like the gargoyles in Disney's movie, _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_) and moved as the wall split into two and revealed a spiral stone staircase.

Michaela stepped on the first stair and to her surprise it twisted up, bringing her to a door with a knocker. Michaela knocked on it.

"Come in."

Michaela opened the door to find herself in the place she had been that terrible night when her parents had been taken. Ignoring the rising feelings within her, she walked in.

"Hello, Michaela, I'm glad to see you. Please, come sit down," her uncle said, pointing to the chair across his desk.

"How are you doing?" Michaela asked politely.

"Oh, fine. The first week of school is always most challenging. I don't know whether I have more Owls from frantic first-year parents or from the Ministry with demands," he said jovially.

Michaela smiled. "Well, I wanted to ask you a few questions, if you can spare a minute or two."

"To avoid the onslaught of the Ministry's messages that I have to answer? Certainly, Michaela." His eyes twinkled.

Michaela described what had happened in Professor Umbridge's class and how the girls had reacted the night before about her discussion of Voldemort. Michaela watched as her uncle's face turned more somber with each sentence.

"They were scared by the mere mention of his name, Uncle Albus, even though they apparently believe he's dead. Even Hermione got skittish; why?"

"I can only say that in the years of Voldemort's height of power, people became so terrified that they thought that even mentioning his name was enough to bring his wrath down upon them."

"Did it?" Michaela asked. _Maybe there was some sort of magic that caused that_.

"No, of course not, but it still stuck. I tried all throughout the war and even now to convince people to say his name, but to no avail."

"But that's so silly!" Michaela said. "I don't care if he was the devil himself, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of calling him 'You-Know-Who.'"

"Yes, well, I've seen that most American wizards and witches have taken that same sentiment, but then again, Voldemort did not unleash his main reign of terror in America."

Michaela didn't think that it mattered much _where_ Voldemort had ruled, but thought it a moot point and asked another question. "But why don't people believe that he's back?"

Dumbledore sighed. "There are many reasons why, but by far the largest is that Cornelius Fudge (our Minister of Magic) refuses to believe that he's back. Without his support and the general trend of negative articles towards the truth in the _Daily Prophet_, the Order of the Phoenix is hard-pressed to convince the public of Voldemort's return."

"We _are_ in a sticky situation then, aren't we? And poor Harry, taking the brunt of it all."

"Yes, but he needs to learn to keep his cool. I fear that Professor Umbridge wants to enrage him so much that he does something rash that will discredit him permanently."

"Are you going to talk to him about it?"

"No, because he needs to learn it himself and it would be highly suspicious for the Headmaster to get involved."

Dumbledore suddenly stood up abruptly and Michaela followed suit. With ease that seemed rather forced, he said, "Well, much as I hate to, I have to finish answering these dispatches before dinner. We can discuss your schoolwork and classes later."

He escorted her to the door and as soon as she was gone from sight, the old wizard pulled off the ring on his finger that he hadn't taken off for twenty years. It was black.

He put his head in his hands and lost the composure that he had struggled to maintain the minute before. Albus Dumbledore was not one to cry—he hadn't cried when his parents died or when his sister had been taken. Instead, he had poured his energies into finding her again.

But now he wept. The old wizard who had carried burdens equal to the weight of the world cried as shamelessly as a newborn. But, like Michaela, his grief subsided as he got a grip on himself.

He still had to carry his heavy burdens and couldn't afford to lose his composure again. Instead, he afforded a moment of irrationality driven by grief to fling the ring into the fire, even though he knew that it couldn't be destroyed.

Duty took place once more in his mind as he pondered the situation. Should he tell Michaela? No, he couldn't. Not when she had just come to grips with her new life.

And there was so much more that she still didn't know. The real reasons why she had to come to Hogwarts: not merely for her own safety. _No_, his mind reasoned, _she can be told later . . . when she can deal with it better_.

It was an old man's mistake that was unfortunately made for another person he cared for deeply: Harry Potter.


	10. Trials

A/N: Hey! Remember me? Probably not. What's up with me? The usual, school, blah, and more blah, our favorites. But over the Christmas break and due to the fact that we have no school due to snow for the second day, I'm all ready with another chapter. As usual, constructive criticism is always appreciated, reviews as well. 

Chapter 10

The next few days at Hogwarts went by quickly for Michaela. She chose to take Potions and Care of Magical Creatures along with her regular schoolwork. She was especially glad for the opportunity to take these classes because it gave her a break from her lonely school day. 

It had quickly become clear to Michaela that she couldn't listen to her class lectures in the library or classrooms because of the distraction it caused. Instead, Dumbledore offered her a room on the seventh floor that was oddly entirely equipped with everything she could possibly need. 

The hologram, which was now resized to life-size, made everything so real that Michaela could almost believe that she was in the classroom. But because of the fact that it wasn't, she often became very lonely. It was amusing the first few days, staring avidly at her fellow students, catching their bad behavior, but even that became boring after awhile. Along with the fact that she couldn't "rewind" the hologram to see what she missed while she wasn't paying attention. 

And so she started to have a regular routine. Breakfast in the morning (yes, something she got used to) with Hermione, two eighty-minute classes, lunch with the gang, one Hogwarts class, and one last class with her school. Evenings varied, though Michaela often helped Hermione make clothes for the House-Elves. She croqueted rather than knitted, however, because it was much easier. 

It was one of these such evenings when Harry and Ron were desperately trying to finish their homework. Harry had spent the past week evenings at detention with Umbridge and Ron had been practicing for the Quidditch tryouts. Michaela had never seen a Quidditch game before and was quite keen to see one. When Ron made the team, she promised to see his first match.  

It was around 11pm when she and Hermione were about to turn in when an owl turned up at the common room window. 

"Isn't that Hermes?" Hermione asked. 

"Blimey, it is!" Ron said, getting up to open the window. 

"What's Percy writing to me for?"

"Who's Percy?" Michaela asked Hermione as Ron started to read the letter.

"Ron's older brother. He, err, disowned his family."

"What? Why?!"

"Because he reckons I'm a crazy lunatic along with your uncle. He believes Fudge," Harry said bitterly. 

"I'm sorry, Harry," Michaela said. _Poor Harry_, she thought. "Hugs?"

Harry looked as though he felt extremely awkward, but managed to give Michaela a hug. 

Ron finished his letter, looking thoroughly disgusted. He thrust it Ron, Hermione, and Michaela, who leaned in together to read it. Michaela understood right away why Ron was so disgusted.

_Was this guy an idiot?_ His pompous tone, his complete confidence in himself. It was almost to the point where it seemed fake. A bit too extreme. Michaela forgot about it when she heard the anger in Ron's voice. 

He ripped it up—"He is the world's biggest—" and threw it in the fire—"git." Watching it burn to ashes, Ron turned away and said, "Come on, we've go to get this finished sometime before dawn."

Hermione cut in, "Oh, give them here."

"What?"

"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them," she said. Ron and Harry's spirits seemed to be dramatically lifted while Michaela decided to turn in. 

The next morning brought a lot of news but not of the good kind. Hermione had just filled in Michaela about Sirius who had visited the trio the night before via fire. 

"He's not being careful at all . . . it's all for his own safety."

"Yeah, I know, but it must be terrible for him to be cooped up all day in the house he hated. Without many people around, it must be terribly lonesome."

Just then the _Daily Prophet_ arrived which revealed the article that Percy had unsubtly mentioned in his letter. Umbridge was being named the "Hogwarts High Inquistor" which was hugely ironic in Michaela's mind. She had learned all about the "Spanish Inquisition" of the sixteenth century last year in her World Cultures class and this seemed to be no different. 

Apparently Umbridge would now have a lot more power now; she would have the power to do away teachers that she did not approve of after her "inspections," likewise with teaching methods. In other words, if you weren't under the Ministry's favor, you could be screwed, just like the poor non-Catholics in Spain.

While Harry and Hermione expressed their disgust and exasperation, Ron grinned.

"What?" Harry, Hermione, and Michaela said at the same time.

"Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected," he said. "Umbridge won't know what hit her."

"Well, come on," Hermione said. "We'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binn's class. We don't want to be late . . . see you later, Michaela. I'll tell you if anything happens."

Michaela nodded and got up from the table as well to head for her studies. On her way up there, she spotted Umbridge and quickly tried to look anonymous but it was too late.

"Miss Woodburn," she stated, toadish smile appearing.

"Professor Umbridge," Michaela said. Before Umbridge could speak again, Michaela said something else. "May I be the _last_ to congratulate you on your new post," she said, taking a bow deep enough for most simple person to see her irony and sarcasm.

"Oh, I hope you are not the last, my dear," Umbridge said, giggling. "Now, to business, I'd like to inform you that because of my new position, I shall be keeping a greater eye on you. You shall come to my classroom everyday so that I can be kept informed of your _school_ _studies_." Again, her tone of voice made it exactly clear what she thought of Michaela's "school studies."

_You want to play that game, Umbridge?_ Michaela thought. _I'll play_. "I shall simply be delighted to visit your classroom, Professor Umbridge," she said. "Any opportunity to see your remarkable teaching ability of the non-practical side of Defense Against the Dark Arts is truly enlightening to me."

There was no flicker of a change in Umbridge's face or tone as she bid Michaela good-bye. _We'll see how long she can hold her poker face for_, Michaela thought. She had never met anyone whose emotions were so checked, but was up for the challenge.  

_This shall be fun, a battle of the wits_, she thought, as she settled back, ready to learn about the atomic orbital charts in Chemistry.

*                                                              *                                *

"Fools!" The unfortunate Death Eater was slammed back against the wall.

"Master, we're sorry, so sorry . . ."

"Silence!" Silence reigned. "You, don't tell me that the spell can't work, tell me why it's not WORKING NOW!"

Nott shivered in fear, he couldn't help it. The Dark Lord was not known for his mercy. On his knees, his head bowed, he said, "My lord, there must be other relatives whose blood we need; it's the only explanation."

"But we've got Dumbledore's sister, his only relation. Aberforth was adopted into the family."

"I know, my lord. We don't need Aberforth's blood. There just must be some other relation that we don't know about."

"Fine. Rise, Nott, and summon Goyle and Crabble. I have work for them."

Nott scurried away, intensely glad to be out of the Dark Lord's wrath. Voldemort turned back to the still quivering Death Eater laying on the floor.

"Get up, Wormtail," he spat. 

Wordlessly Wormtail got up and followed Voldemort into the chamber where Howard Woodburn was chained to the wall with several cuts and bruises on his body.

What he had endured was something no one should ever even hear about. His wife, Angelina, was dead by bleeding to death in front of his own eyes. That wasn't the worse part of it.

He had been freed from his chains and was put under the Imperius Curse to kill his own wife. Of course he had fought it off—successfully too—but each time he did so he receive the Cruciatus Curse. 

This was all for Voldemort's amusement as the man stubbornly kept fighting until he at last collapsed physically and mentally so that Voldemort had complete control over him. He made the final fatal stabbing wound and watched, after had had been chained again, horror-struck at what he had done. 

The Death Eaters had only taken a small vial of blood from her. Then they left him and her alone in the chamber. Angelina was unconscious from the loss of blood and Howard could only watch as his wife's breaths came slower and slower until they finally stopped coming. She was not more than three feet from him.

Howard could only cry and rage at Voldemort, the Death Eaters, himself, the world, and anything else that came to mind until exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep. 

He was abruptly awaken by a kick a few hours later. 

"Yes, that's right. Wake up, Mudblood lover." 

Howard struggled to focus his eyes and his vision came back slowly.

"So our little spell didn't work so well, apparently there seems to be more blood relatives in the Dumbledore line. Who else is there?" The question was said almost politely. 

After no response, Crabbe punched Howard's face. "Not too hard, Crabbe, we want him conscious."

Howard had been working thing out in his head the first time he was asked the question. The spell didn't work. Then there was hope yet! When he was asked the question a second time, his thoughts went wildly to Michaela. 

_Michaela! Of course!_ They didn't know about her. At all costs her identity couldn't be known. It _couldn't_. Not only for her safety, but for the safety of the world. With that, he struggled to come up with an answer. 

"I—I don't now what you're talking about."

"Liar! Do not think I am a fool when I just saw the recognition in your eyes. Though you must be a practiced in the arts of Occlumency, you can't hide your eyes. Crabbe?"

Crabbe hit Howard again, this time much harder. In his weakened position, this was enough to send Howard into blissful unconsciousness. His last thoughts were that he couldn't give up what he knew.

The costs . . . would be more than the world could bear.

"Idiot! We need him conscious to question him! _Crucio!" _

Crabbe shrieked as Goyle went down on his knees begging Voldemort to give them another chance. 

"Stay here until he awakens and then get me. We will get down to the bottom of this." With a swish of his robes, Voldemort swept out of the room. 


	11. Harry, Snape, and Sirius

A/N: Hey! Look who's back,,,,within a month! And a new reviewer! Welcome J. Sorry this has taken awhile to get out, but I write more when I have time to actually do it, which I've had this past week. I do have to admit, though, your review was a fair bit of motivation J. Anyway, here's the new chapter,,,,if it's seeming to be dragging, well, it's partly because I'm trying to create something realistic here,,,,I've just read too many stories that have the OOC meet Sirius in one chapter and the next, they're all over him,,,,you know? Anyway, constructive criticism is always nice to have, and I saw that another person is on my favorite author's list,,,cool! 

Chapter Eleven

Another week went by as Michaela started to really know her way around the castle without having to ask random students every five minutes where she was going. 

Harry, unfortunately, landed himself another week of detention with Umbridge after losing his temper again. When he received even more detention during Umbridge's inspection of Care of Magical Creatures, Michaela decided it was time to talk to him if no one else was; otherwise he'd spend the rest of the year in detention. 

Before he left for detention that night, Michaela took him aside. "Harry, wait up!" He waited as she ran to catch up with him in the hallway.

"I have to go to detention . . ."

"I know, I'll walk you there, I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes." They started walking again towards Umbridge's office.

"So..?"

Michaela sighed. "Okay, Harry, don't bite my head off, but hear me out, okay?" Harry nodded, wary. "I know Umbridge makes you angry—she does that to everyone, well, except for maybe the Slytherins because they're idiots, but . . ."

Harry grinned.

"So even if she makes you mad, you can't let her have the satisfaction of her knowing that she got to you—"

"She isn't getting to me!" Harry said, his voice rising.

"Hey, hey! Calm down, brother!"

Harry started to sulk. 

"Okay, so even if she's not "getting" to you, you _do_ know that that she makes you mad. Hell, she makes me mad. But use your anger and energy to throw it right back at her, but in calm tones. Use subtlety so that she can't call you on it—that's how you're going to beat her, my friend."

He didn't say anything as they reached Umbridge's office, but Michaela could tell—or hoped she could tell that she had made an impact on him.

"Oh, one more thing," Michaela said as Harry was about to enter Umbridge's office. "Sing songs in your head if you get bored; they'll keep your mood up. I personally enjoying "singing" Disney songs, but I'm sure you've got your own preferences."

Michaela was sure that she spotted a flicker of a grin on Harry's face as he walked in. _Good, progress!_ Of course Harry wasn't going to learn to control his temper overnight, but it was a start.

Singing her own song in her head (Mulan's "Be a man" currently), she made her way across the almost deserted hallways. She spotted Snape on her way back to the Gryffindor Tower. 

"Good night, Professor Snape," she said, turning to him. Snape looked rather shocked on the whole that someone had bid him a "good-night" He nodded curtly and started to head off when Michaela spoke to him again. "The potion we made last class, it was great! I never knew that potion-making could be so hard or complicated."

Snape stopped but then continued on without turning around. 

"Well, anyway, thanks for letting me take your class, I know that I probably won't ever be that adept at it, but I'm enjoying what I've learned so far."

At that he stopped again and turned around. "I'm pleased to hear that you don't see Potions as something minutiae or insignificant. Good night Miss Woodburn."

Michaela waited until she turned around before she grinned broadly. _Yes!_ she thought. _The man isn't lifeless afterall!_ _One point to me! _She'd been trying to warm up to Snape for the past week since she started her beginners Potions lessons. 

The man seemed forever annoyed with the world and never seemed happy.  His emotions were numbered to two: irritated and angry. He intrigued Michaela because of this and she sub-consciously started to try to win him over. She couldn't lay it on "thick" (because he might think that she was sucking up to him) and had to be sincere. And she _was_ sincere. She truly did enjoy Potions.    

It was now past nine o' clock and the Gryffindor common room was only half-full. Having finished her homework and knowing that the thought of making _another_ House-Elf sock or hat made her shudder, she headed up to her dormitory. 

Parvati and Lavender were gossiping and thus didn't notice as Michaela surreptitiously stuck a mirror inside her sweatshirt and locked herself in the shower.

To anyone else, she was only taking a shower; the shower room was soundproof. Apparently the amount of singing that went on in showers at Hogwarts grew to large proportions with the amount of terrible singing far outweighing the mediocre. When people started buying earplugs so that they could brush their teeth or use the bathroom in peace, spells were put on the showers to block out the noise of the singers.

"Sirius?" Michaela spoke to the mirror, setting herself on one of the lush bath towels.

After a minute or two of calling his name, Sirius appeared. His face broke out into a smile, with "Hi Michaela!" then looked concerned. "What's wrong? Is Harry okay?"

"Oh, yes, don't worry."

"So what're you up to?" he asked. 

"Not much, just been doing homework and croqueting clothes for House-Elves like crazy…"

"Don't tell me you're all for spew, are you?"

"Yeah…why?"

"Would you want to let House-Elves like Kreacher on the loose?" he smiled at his weak joke but Michaela wasn't convinced of his motives. 

"Not all House-Elves are insane like Kreacher, Sirius," she said guardedly.

"Oh, really? Ever met one before?"

"Dobby…"

"Which proves my point completely!"

Michaela bit her lip. "Well, I refuse to believe that all House-Elves are insane, incapable of making rational decisions. I personally don't appreciate the fact that we in the Wizarding community can't treat other beings with the basic respect of not enslaving them."

Sirius' face tightened. "He's not _my_ House-Elf, you know." 

Michaela was startled "I'm not digging on _you_ yourself, Sirius! I'm just saying that we could take a bit more responsibility in these kinds of situations. I agree that not all House-Elves are ready or ever will be ready for freedom, like Kreacher, but that doesn't mean we should use that to condemn all House-Elves."

Sirius sighed. "Yes, I s'pose you're right. It's just hard to think anything positive about House-Elves around here with Kreacher here…"

"What do you do all day?"

Sirius gave an ironic laugh. "Oh, it's very glamorous, I can assure you. Sitting around all day waiting for someone from the Order to talk to is the highlight of my day or talking to you—definitely the highlight of the week at least."

Michaela put on a face of mock airiness. "Well, you know…" She held her facial expression until she and Sirius both burst out laughing.   
  


"See?" Sirius said after their laughter subsided.  "My first laugh all week…"

"Sirius, you need to find yourself a project to do, something that will keep you occupied. You'll go insane otherwise and I know, 'cause if you're laughing at _my_ jokes and they're your highlight of the week, well, that's just ba-aaaaad."

"They _are_ funny!"

Michaela grinned. "Uh-huh. Just like Harry loves Umbridge, right?"

"Umbridge? That Ministry lady? What happened?"

The mood, which had been playful and humorous, now turned serious.

"It's nothing, don't worry."

"Michaela…tell me what's going on." Sirius looked dead serious and Michaela didn't think that he was about to accept nothing from her.

"Well, he's just had a falling out with her…you know, about Voldie being back," she said, hurriedly adding, "Which is understandable, of course. How people could be so blind is beyond me." 

Her attempt at trying to switch the conversation to focus on Voldemort himself failed as Sirius asked next, "A falling out? Did she punish him?" Michaela hesitated. "_Did_ she?" he repeated. 

_Why am I so reluctant to tell him anything?_ she thought. _He's not about to storm up to Hogwarts or do something else just as rash, is he?_ "He got detention. But he's fine…and I talked to him about losing his temper today—" Michaela covered her mouth. _Oh crap_.

"He's losing his temper? What else is happening, _Michaela_, and why haven't you been telling me all of this?" Sirius voice seemed as sharp as daggers.

"Nothing, I swear," Michaela said. "He's coming back from detention tonight, you can ask him yourself. But you don't have to be so mean about it…I'm not Harry's keeper, you know. This isn't like a major problem as in life-threatening and I told you I don't like the idea of spying on someone!"          

"Whether you wanted to spy or not, I gave you that mirror so that you could tell me about these—"

"I came here tonight because I wanted to talk to you for fun and to see how you were doing. But obviously that doesn't seem to be working out. If you want to hear about Harry so badly, you can talk to my uncle instead. Good-night."

Michaela flipped the mirror over, ignoring Sirius's replies and wrapped it up in towel to block out the noise. "Men…" Michaela muttered under her breath.

She decided to go downstairs to be in the company of Hermione, House-Elf knitting or no but found Harry to be in a shouting match with Ron and Hermione instead.

Michaela couldn't take it just right then and so she trudged back upstairs, followed shortly after by Hermione, who caught up with her.  

"So what was the whole hullabaloo about with Harry?" Michaela asked.

Hermione was hesitant. "We—I asked him if he would be interested in doing a sort of Defense Against the Dark Arts club…to help with our exams and to help against You-Know—Voldemort," she said with a rush. "…and he just lost his temper when we told him how good he was at Defense Against the Dark Arts, which he is, I don't know if you know all of the stuff—"

"Yeah, I know a fair bit. Defense Against the Dark Arts club, eh? Don't think Umbridge would like it much."

"Yes, but there isn't anything illegal about it, anyway, after Harry calmed down, I just asked him to think about it."

"Which is all you can do," Michaela said. "But damn it, he needs to learn to control his temper! He will get himself in some serious trouble someday if he doesn't."

"Yeah…" Hermione's voice trailed off, lost in thought, as they reached the door to their dormitory. 

"'Night 'Mione."

"Good night Michaela."

*                           *                            *

Everyone was quiet at the breakfast table the next morning. Michaela was lost in thought about Sirius. She hadn't regretted her words to him the night before but she still felt a bit uneasy about the situation. Had she a right to be angry with him? Wasn't he after all just being protective of Harry? Wasn't he cooped up all day with nothing to dwell on but Harry and his hated house? _Stop it_, she told herself finally. _No matter if his motives were good, he _shouldn't_ expect you to baby-sit Harry_.

Determined to break out of her uneasy mood, she tried to force cheerfulness at the table by trying to mimic the English accents that everyone had.

In an overly pompous voice, she announced, "Moy nayme is Meechaela Woodburn. Oi hoppen to live in the luvely state of Caleefornia." Hermione suppressed a grin while Ron outright laughed.

"Come now," Ron said. "You really think we sound like that?"

"Moy good man, this English aksent is nossing short of the luvely aksent that you speak of roight now, Oi dare say."'

That did it. Not even Hermione could hold back her amusement as everyone within earshot of Michaela burst out laughing. 

"Fine, fine, okay," Michaela said, reverting back to her normal tone. "Let's see _you_ try to speak like an American."

Ron was the first to try. "I am talking lyke an Uhmarrreecan. I is one cool cat."

Now it was Michaela's turn to laugh. She took on a rustic "dude" attitude. "Yeah, like, totally, dude. Righteous." Even Harry had to laugh at that. "You guys have GOT to see "Finding Nemo" sometime," she said. "It's such a good movie."

With the mood lightened, breakfast became a much more enjoyable affair. When the bell rang, they headed for their first period classes. After attending Pre-Calculus (learning about the six different functions and their inverses), Michaela headed down to Potions. 

Since she was at an introductory level class, she was with all the first years—of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, that is.

"Get settled immediately," came Snape's voice as all chatter ceased. "Today you will be brewing a potion for a surprise grade." The class immediately started to groan but was cut off just as quickly by Snape's raised hand. "Shall I make it two potions?" The class shook their head silently as Snape put instructions on the board and told them to begin.

The potion (for curing warts) wasn't that hard but was just a long process that involved adding ingredients at exactly the right time and temperature. Snape walked around the tables, criticizing most people's potions and ignoring those whose potions were perfect.

As Michaela's potion was perfect, or as near as can be, he had nothing to say to her. That didn't mean that Michaela had nothing to say to him. "Professor Snape?"

Snape turned around, annoyed at the interruption. 

"Is it possible to be able to use the potion after we're done? I've got this small wart on my little toe that I've had for years—"

"I doubt that anyone's potion in this classroom will be adequate enough to achieve the true desired effects."

"Yeah, maybe. But can I still try it?"

Snape wavered. "I will not be responsible for any injuries you may inflict upon yourself by your poor potion."

He swept away, off to criticize someone else's potion as Michaela wondered at her determination to befriend him. She couldn't explain why she felt this way but had a deep strong feeling that she needed to continue to try to make him become her friend. _Kill 'em with kindness,_ she thought. _I'll just have to wait for more opportune moments_. 

After potions she had her other two classes (AP British literature and American Government) and had the rest of the afternoon to herself. She decided to take a walk on the grounds, knowing that she'd probably get lost, but still enjoying the prospect of looking around.

She managed to find Hagrid's Hut fairly well since she went down there every other day for lessons. Hagrid was very friendly to her and she liked him immediately. He was very large, easily twice Michaela's size but the only thing she feared from him was a big bear hug. She already had her share of that from Fang, Hagrid's pet. 

"Michaela! What yeh up to today?" Hagrid said, greeting her.

"Oh, nothing much. Thought I'd take a walk along the grounds."

"Lovely day to do that, it is," Hagrid agreed. "Unfortunately I have some business to attend to in Hogsmeade right now, so I'll have to be off."

"That wouldn't include drinking at the local bar, would it?" Michaela asked mischievously. She had heard all kinds of stories. 

"O' course not! I don't drink on ta job." He looked offended.

"Hagrid! I was just kidding!" Michaela said, smiling.

"Oh. Right then. Well, I'll be off, say hello to the gang for me, will yeh?"

"Sure I'll see ya." Michaela headed off again, wandering around the grounds.  She found herself at the Quidditch Pitch and stayed awhile, watching the Hufflepuff team practice. 

"I have _got_ to get me one of those brooms," she said to herself, making a mental note to ask Harry later. Wandering around some more, she found the Owlery where the school barn owls along with the students' private owls were kept.

She was about to head back to school when an owl came flying in, spotted Michaela, and dropped a note in Michaela's hands. 

"For me?" she asked the owl, puzzled. Who would be writing to her? The owl merely hooted as it flew to the shafts with the other owls and Michaela walked outside.

She unfolded the note, which had only two words on it. In black ink, it simply said, "I'm sorry."             


	12. Homesick and Racism

A/N: Whoa. Remember this chick? Yeah, haven't updated since January, partly due to writers' block, partly due to schoolwork, partly due to the fact that I graduated this year, go me! But, yes, I've finally got this chappie done, mostly due to the fact that I'm nannying this summer and the kids don't wake up until 10am so I have about 2 hours of writing time each day,,,,I've also been working more on the larger plot so that it'll all make sense and I can tell you now, I can't WAIT until I get to write about something that was originally the whole entire point of the fic,,,,anywho, same as always, constructive criticism and smileys are very much appreciated!

Summary (for those who have forgotten): Michaela is now pretty much settled in at Hogwarts, just had a fight with Sirius, and received a mysterious note that said, "I'm sorry."

Chapter 12

"Crap!" Michaela's watch unmistakably read 9:36am. She was six minutes late for her weekly meeting with Professor Umbridge and since she had been late during the last week, she couldn't be late today. Much as she would've loved to irk Umbridge, this was not the way to do it, especially since she'd been promised detention the next time she was late.

Moving with superb agility, dodging students in the hallway, she made it to Umbridge's office in good time, even though it mattered little; it was now 9:39am.

"Sorry, sorry!" Michaela said breathlessly. "I, uh, lost track of time and was, um, deterred by all the students in the hallway."

Without turning around from her desk, Umbridge said, "Tut, tut. My dear, I'm sure you'll never lose track of time again as I'll see you in detention for the rest of this week."

_Damn!_ Michaela thought furiously. _Well, at least it's already Wednesday_. Michaela took a seat.

"But on to more . . . pleasant subjects. What have you been doing in your studies?" she said, and then made a noise that sounded like a squeal rather than a laugh.

Trying to look unfazed, Michaela said, "Oh, it's great! We've finished stoichometry in Chemistry and are starting on how to balance covalent and ionic bonding equations. We—"

"That's quite enough; all I needed to hear about _Muggle_ Chemistry. What I really want to hear about are your marks."

_Grades_, Michaela translated. "Well, I didn't do so stellar on that math test . . . but no one in the class did! I've got about a 3.7 culm, but you're more than welcome to check my quarter grades . . . but I don't think you'll be able to understand it, you know, the _American_ grading system is much more complicated than the English and it might go over your head."

It certainly looked as though it had gone over Umbridge's head. As for the grading systems in England, Michaela truly didn't care much for them, but that might be just because she had grown up with the American system and preferred what was familiar.

"Yes, well, that will be all. I expect to see you tonight at 8:00 sharp!" The way she carried on, someone would've thought that Michaela and Umbridge were having a girls night out sleepover or something.

_Never mind_. "I'll be here, bye!" she said, mimicking Umbridge's tone. She couldn't get in trouble for acting like a faculty member, could she? Hearing nothing from Umbridge, she headed out the doorway up to her classroom.

Almost falling asleep halfway through her British literature class, her ears perked up when she heard her name.

"Where is Michaela lately? I don't believe we've had her in class for the last few days, is she sick, Serena?" Mrs. Cornall, her teacher asked.

Serena was one of Michaela's good friends. "I don't know, I—" she cut off as her eyes became glazed over. "Macbeth is one of Shakespeare's most tragic plays," Serena said, as though answering a question.

_Remember me! Please! _Michaela pleaded silently. But the class went on as if no one had ever mentioned Michaela's name. Come to think of it, everyone in the class had gotten that glazed look over them. Michaela knew that this was good because it would keep her whereabouts hidden, but all the same she longed for them to miss her.

She missed them . . . so terribly, Michaela realized. _I'm homesick._ After living for nearly two and half months in a place where nobody spoke like her or even did the same kind of schoolwork like her, she felt so cutoff. Nothing was the same and probably never would be again.

Michaela felt like crying. A knock came at her door, a distraction. Distractions were good; they kept feelings from rising up within Michaela. "Come in."

The door opened and Dumbledore came in. "I'm sorry to interrupt you—"

"No, it's fine!" Michaela said, with fake brightness in her voice. "We're just reading 'Macbeth' for the rest of the period, I think," she said, watching the holograms of her old life reading silently.

"Macbeth? I believe I've read that Muggle play. Shakespeare, isn't it?"

"That's right . . . I didn't know you read Muggle books! That's cool!"

Dumbledore smiled. "Unlike some of my fellow wizards, I have found much pleasure in reading Muggle literature . . . it's an interesting perspective."

"Yeah, though I can't say I've read much on Wizard literature," Michaela said sheepishly. "So anyway, what's up?"

"I've heard that you now report to Professor Umbridge about your schoolwork."

"Yeah, unfortunately. Why is she such a close-minded person?"

"I trust you're treating her with all respect due—"

"Of course!" Michaela cut in. Suddenly, all her pent-up frustration rose up. "Not that she's ever treated _me_ with any respect, not that she thinks my schoolwork is worth anything, not that she thinks _I'm_ worth anything, that my friends don't miss me, or that I have a life or—"

"Michaela."

Michaela stopped in mid-sentence. "Dammit, I'm sorry, uncle. It's just . . . during class today, my friends asked for me; they remembered me, but then of course they were made to forget me for security measures, but just for a few seconds they did. Uncle Albus, I miss them. I miss my whole life! Not just mom and dad, but everything! I want to go back where people know me, where people do the same sorts of things that I do, hell, even just to have people who understand American things."

Dumbledore put his arm around her.

"And it's just that: I _am_ a stranger here and it's just hard when one of your daily contacts openly despises you and vice-versa. I shouldn't complain, I know. But I just can't help it sometimes, it seems like."

Dumbledore was silent for a few moments after Michaela was done venting. When he spoke, he said, "It's only natural to feel a lone and stressed in a foreign country, Michaela, and there's no need to feel shame for that."

"But when can I go home? Have you heard anything about my parents?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot send you home right now because the Death Eaters may come and kidnap you. When can you go back? I honestly don't know at this point, Michaela. I'm sorry. As for Professor Umbridge, I agree that she is rather difficult, but as she is the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, she has every right to keep updated on you."

"I s'pose." Michaela sighed.

"Good." Dumbledore stood up and headed to the door when Michaela said, "Wait! I forgot to ask you, can you sign this for me?"

She handed him a piece of parchment that read, __

_I, Professor Dumbledore, uncle of Michaela Woodburn, give her permission to go to Hogsmeade_.

Michaela handed him a pen to sign with and he did, though he seemed to hesitate a bit before signing it.

"I've never seen so many different types of candy before!" Michaela said, as the quartet headed out of Honeydukes. "Some American shops would kill for half of them"

"Muggle shops, you mean," Hermione said. "I imagine there're plenty of Wizard candy shops in America."

"Well yes, of course," Michaela said sheepishly. Hermione, Harry, and Ron were showing Michaela around Hogsmeade and Michaela was finding out just how little exposure she had to the Wizarding world.

She felt as though she was a sailor who had seen a small iceberg and had just realized the true size of it.

"C'mon, we need to be getting on . . . we'll be late," Hermione said, and they hurried across the rest of the town.

They came to a very old pub that was stingy and dirty. When Hermione ordered some Butterbeers, Michaela declined. If the glasses were as sanitary as the pub was, Michaela didn't want her lips to go anywhere near them. Slowly the pub filled up with Hogwarts students which seemed directly proportionate to Harry's nervousness until Hermione assured him that she would speak to them at first.

What Hermione was proposing was a sort of Defense Against the Dark Arts club, led by Harry, that would meet weekly to learn practical defense, especially since Umbridge wasn't teaching or allowing them to practice any in her classroom.

The students were a little slow to take to the idea, especially one kid, Zachariah Smith, who seemed to have it out for Harry.

Michaela was half-listening to the chatter because most of it didn't concern her—she couldn't practice defense magic even if Umbridge did allow it in her classroom. Instead, she focused on her surroundings and noticed one girl, Cho was her name? and how she kept looking at Harry. Not just looking, her eyes told that of something else: she had a crush on Harry! __

_Wow_, Michaela thought. _Wonder if Harry notices?_ By the way that Harry kept trying to avoid her eyes, he knew something _Poor guy! He must be so nervous!_ Michaela knew how that was; she'd asked out a few guys who had admitted afterwards that they wanted to ask her out, but were too nervous. 

After the meeting, Hermione and Harry showed Michaela the rest of Hogsmeade while Ron became increasingly indignant over the news from Hermione that Ginny, Ron's little sister, had a boyfriend. The rest of the weekend passed peacefully enough until came with some unexpected sour news.

"Someone must've blabbed to her!" Ron said, as Michaela and Hermione read Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four.

"They can't have done," Hermione said in a softer tone.

"You're so naïve, you think just because you're all honorable and trustworthy—"

"No, they can't have done because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed," Hermione said.  "Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they'll really regret it."

As Hermione was telling Ron exactly what would happen to the perpetrator, they all headed for breakfast where the chatter was a bit higher and more intense than usual. Harry decided to continue with the Defense club as breakfast continued and they went their separate ways to classes.

Michaela found out later that day that Hedwig, Harry's owl, had been attacked. The note that she had been carrying had been from Sirius which read, "_Same time, same place._"

The trouble was that they believed that Hedwig had been intercepted by the Ministry and McGonagall had told Harry herself that they were probably being watched.

"We'll have to tell him tonight not to contact us again; it's too risky." Micahaela told the other three.  Inside, she felt a twinge of guilt. _She_ could contact Sirius without anyone knowing; should she share this with the others? And lose Sirius' trust?

She debated telling them all night while they waited in the common room to clear out and for Sirius to come. Unfortunately, like Ron, she started to doze and didn't wake up by the time Sirius appeared.

After greetings, he noticed Michaela curled up in an armchair, still asleep. "How is she doing?" he asked in a higher voice. Hermione may have picked up on this, but Ron and Harry certainly didn't.

"Michaela? She's fine," Ron said dismissively. "But things aren't so great at Hogwarts . . ."

The next day, Michaela couldn't concentrate on her schoolwork at all. Hermione had filled her in on Sirius' conversation but had no time to speculate with her as time ran out and the bell for classes had rung. Finally, during her lunch break, she couldn't take it any longer.

Dashing up to her rooms and finding it completely deserted, she took out the mirror that Sirius had given her and called for him. "Sirius?" No answer. "Sirius?" she called again, this time a bit louder. When she got no answer for about five minutes, she was beginning to become a little worried. Suppose Umbridge _had_ caught him? Suppose that—

"Michaela? Is that you?"

Relief flooded through her. "Sirius! I'm so glad you're here, how are you? Are you okay?"

He smiled. "Umbridge will have to get up faster than that to catch the likes of me!"

"Sirius, please be careful! If anything happened to you, I don't know what I—I mean Harry would do." They were silent for a few minutes. _Jeez, that was a close one!_

"Michaela," Sirius began, "I just wanted to say how sorry I was to get so defensive with you a few days ago—"

"I know, I got your note, thank you for it."

"Note? What note?"

"You know, a note that said 'I'm sorry' on it?"

"Michaela, I didn't send you a note, only that one to Harry about talking through the fireplace last night."

Michaela was puzzled. Who could have sent her that note? Who, and why? She barely knew anyone here at Hogwarts and she couldn't think of anyone besides Sirius who owed her an apology. "That's weird . . . because I got a note that said, 'I'm sorry' on it and I thought it was from you."

"Who's it from then, do you think?"

"That's the thing, I have no idea. They didn't leave a name either."

"Hmm, well it's done no harm, right? Maybe you'll find out who it is later."

"Never mind, what I really wanted to talk to you about was this mirror, actually. Shouldn't we tell Hermione, Harry, and Ron about it? So that you can talk to them without Umbridge knowing about it?"

"No! Harry'll be furious with me if he thinks that I'm using you to spy on him—"

"But what about the consequences if you get caught?"

"I won't get caught I won't."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Michaela sighed. "Well, here's hoping anyway." She put the mirror away and headed down for lunch.

That night, the first meeting for the defense club met and Michaela went along to see it through. All was going well until Zacharias Smith raised his hand after Hermione had finished talking.

"Yes?" Harry inquired.

"I have a question: why is _she_ here?" he said, jerking his thumb in Michaela's direction.

Michaela felt twenty-eight pairs of eyes fall upon her and her cheeks started to burn.

"I mean, she's _just_ a Squib; she can't do anything—"

"Like yourself?" said one of the Weasley twins. "Can't keep your mouth shut when you need to?"

"It's true!" Smith said, standing up. "She's no better than a stupid Muggle, in fact, she's worse at that because she's stuck in the middle of two worlds. She's only a liability to us—one more person than necessary that could turn us all in to Umbridge."

Michaela could see some of the other members nodding, agreeing with Smith. That, if anything, made it all worse. Ron and the Weasley twins started to stand up, but before they could do anything, Michaela stood up and said, "You're right. I'll leave."

Mouth clenched tight, she walked with perfect poise out the door and shut it behind her. Only then did she collapse—in tears.

"No-good Squib! Good-for-nothing! You don't belong here!"

Voices in her head taunted her.

"As useless as Muggles!"

Memories from her childhood that she had managed to suppress all these years were suddenly unleashed in her mind once more. She started to run. _Run, run anywhere!_ her mind thought.

She found a bathroom that was thankfully empty. She fell down on her knees, gasping for breath and crying harder still. For an immeasurable amount of time, she was like this.

"Oh, what could be so dreadful?" cooed a soft voice.

Michaela picked up her head a little, crying a little softer now. She saw a ghost who was a young girl. "I'm—hiccup!—sorry," she said. "Someone . . . said some very mean things to me."

"Ohh," breathed the ghost. "How awful. I'm Myrtle. People used to tease me too. But now," she smiled wickedly, "I tease them!"

"That's not very nice," Michaela said, now blowing her nose with some toilet paper.

"But they still tease me!" Myrtle continued, as though Michaela hadn't spoken. She started to wail and went through the bathroom stall.

Michaela backed away as the water started to flood everywhere. Heading out the door, she went up to one of the towers she had discovered when trying to find her way around the castle. She sat near the ledge, looking up at the star-lit night.

Her father had taught her the names of the constellations and it gave her comfort to look for them.

"Never pay attention to what other people might say about you being a Squib, sweetheart. You are special, you are loved, and you most certainly are important to _both_ worlds and that makes you a very lucky girl."

Her father's words echoed from within her when she was five years old and had come home crying. "Look at the stars, Michaela," he had said. "They're as close to eternal as you can get and my love for you will last longer than that . . . if _that_ doesn't make you special, I don't know what does."

"Daddy!" she had squealed, as her father had wrapped her up in a bear-hug and started to tickle her.

Michaela had never felt so loved in her life during those distant moments, though she had only been five years old.  The memory not only comforted her, but gave her strength. Strength to tackle any new challenges or taunts that came her way.

"Good-night, daddy," she whispered. "I love you."

I liked this chapter and spent a good while to make it sound realistic. Did I succeed? You tell me!


	13. On the Edge

A/N: Wow, it's been awhile, hasn't it? Freakin' long. I will be most surprised if _anyone_ reads this and reviews it. If you do, yay! If not, I suppose I deserve it. Well, one thing that is going to keep motivating me for this story is that the way the plot works out, it has to be done before HBP comes out and from there, I might be able to add more on to the story, depending on what happens in HBP. Anyway, I'm at college now and while last quarter sucked ass b/c of bio and chem stuff, I'm now a nursing major and have ultra easy classes this quarter so I can spend more time on this.

So that you don't have to re-read all that has been going on, here's a review:

Michaela, a Squib, has spent the first few months of school (her senior year in hs) at Hogwarts because her parents have been taken by Death Eaters. Her mother is the sister of Dumbledore and we have found out later that the mother was killed involuntarily by her husband (under the Imperius Curse) but no one knows this. Michaela has adjusted as most one can be under the circumstances and has a developing friendship with Sirius. Umbridge ceases to annoy her and Professor Snape intrigues her. Last chapter we dealt with some issues of bias that wizards have against Squibs and left her wondering how much longer she is going to stay at Hogwarts.

So, got all that? Good. Here you go, the next chapter will be up in perhaps two weeks,,,

* * *

Chapter 13 

"I can't wait!" Michaela's face was shining with excitement. The first Quidditch match of the year was to begin the next morning, after breakfast.

"Just you wait, Michaela," Fred said. "It's bloody good fun."

The only person who didn't seem to share in this excitement was Ron, who was looking down at his sandwich gloomily.

"Better watch out Weasley!" called Malfoy as he and a few other Slytherins sauntered by. "The Quaffle'll go faster through the air than your broom—not that you'd catch it anyway!" The gang of Slytherin's laughed as Ron tried unsuccessfully to shrink more into the table bench. _Poor Ron_, Michaela thought.

"Too bad your broom isn't fast enough to escape the Bludgers, Malfoy!" one of the twins called back and the Slytherins' laughs subsided a bit as they headed out the doors.

"Just ignore them; they're nothing but prats," Harry said. Ron didn't look convinced.

"Ron, since when have you ever listened to a Slytherin?" Michaela asked.

Ron looked up. "Well, I don't, but . . . oh, you don't understand!" He leaned into his cereal again. Michaela and Harry exchanged looks.

Inwardly, she sighed. She couldn't help Ron if he didn't want to be helped. The bell rang for classes and she trudged up to her makeshift classroom.

After the incident with the D.A. (as the group had decided to call themselves), Harry and Hermione were the first to apologize profusely to her, followed later by all of the Weasleys. However, they all agreed (Michaela included) that it would be best if she didn't attend any more meetings.

"He was right, in a way," Michaela had concluded. "I _am_ a Squib and can't perform magic stuff like you guys can. Of course, he could've gone about saying it in a more polite fashion, but that's the way you do it if you happen to be a jackass."

Her evenings, then, were now spent in the library, reading some Wizard literature (as her uncle had done with Muggle literature) and doing some light research on House-Elves. She agreed with Hermione's idea of an organization to free the House-Elves, but felt that Hermione was going about it the wrong way.

The first thing was the name. No matter how good its intentions were, Michaela knew that any name whose initials were synonymous with tossing your cookies would not draw many people. She needed something catchy.

Ron's offhand idea of "House Elf Liberation Front" (H.E.L.F.) wasn't bad at all, and she pondered using "Party" instead of "Front" to make the initials spell out "H.E.L.P." The only snag in all of this was how to suggest all of this to Hermione tactfully, without raising Hermione's defenses.

But of most importance on these evenings was the question of college applications. Dumbledore had provided her with a Muggle computer (with special modifications so that it would work at Hogwarts) and when she promised not to contact her friends back in California, Michaela had essentially full access to the Internet.

All of this was great for Michaela, but where to apply? University of San Diego and University of Southern California were high on her list of potential schools, but they were also selective and expensive. However, her uncle had told her that she shouldn't consider the price of college at all because her parents and he were well off and could probably afford to send her almost anywhere. Along with that, he also said to apply to at least one to two universities in England.

Studying abroad? Before coming to stay at Hogwarts, living and studying abroad had always held an appeal to her. It seemed adventurous and exciting, even a bit romantic, though the last reason seemed a bit silly.

_Americans romanticize Europe so much_, Michaela thought. And why not? With the adorable accents, historical landmarks, and buildings hundreds of years old, how could anyone _not_ romanticize it? _That is, until you live there day in and day out_.

Michaela did love the scenery and the architecture that she had seen, but missed the "American" style homes and warm weather every day. It seemed as though it rained every other day here at Hogwarts.

Yes, it was nice staying here, but Michaela couldn't imagine permanently staying in a foreign country—there would be virtually nothing keeping her here.

Except . . . perhaps a relationship with someone? _Oh, yeah?_ Her mind said. _And who would that be?_ Try as she might, she couldn't help but think of Sirius, but immediately dismissed the notion.

He's too old (_he's not _that_ old_), he's a wanted fugitive (_who's innocent_), he's headstrong and stubborn (_but proved that he can reconcile with it_), and he looks too rugged (_which you find very attractive_) . . .

"ARGH!"

"SSSHH!" Madam Pince looked highly aggravated that Michaela had made such a disruption in her library and sent her a look of pure venom.

Hastily calling it quits for the night, Michaela packed her backpack and laptop and headed for the common room. It was getting late and she didn't want to miss the Quidditch game in the morning, so she went to bed soon after. As she settled under her down comforter, she never imagined that more than 5,000 miles away her other comforter wasn't receiving the same treatment.

* * *

SLASH! BANG! These were the noises heard inside 94-310 Hunting Horn Way West, home of the currently absent Woodburns. 

"Stop making so much noise, Nott!" The voice of Lucius Malfoy was that of a low hiss. "We don't want to attract the attention of the Muggle neighbors!"

Three Death Eaters were in the master bedroom, virtually tearing it apart, looking for any clues as to the existence of other relatives on the Dumbledore line. The Dark Lord had given orders to find out who the relative was and not to return without this information.

They had tried to extract information out of Howard Woodburn, but he had died a month or two ago. After a few hours of torture, it had become clear to Howard that eventually he would crack against his will. In order to save his daughter and prevent the further rise of Voldemort's power, he effectively committed suicide. He goaded his guards into beating him until his body wore out and he allowed his spirit to be let go.

The Death Eaters had only just found out the location of the Woodburn's residence again because it seemed that the house's location was put under a spell to keep them from finding it. This further confirmed Voldemort's suspicions that there must be some other relative to the Dumbledore line that no one knew about, perhaps a bastard child or cousin.

Now that they knew the address, Voldemort wasted no time in trying to ascertain the mysterious relative. He sent three of his servants to the Woodburn's residence and they were there, searching with frenzied determination. If they took too long, the Dark Lord would surely punish them, even if they managed to uncover the identity of the relative.

"Enough. There is nothing more here. Search the other rooms on this floor."

Nott and Goyle stumbled into the bathroom while Lucius headed to one of the other rooms. Opening the door, he found another bedroom. This room was obviously feminine as the walls were light lavender and a pale blue comforter with flowers printed on it. Looking around before tearing up the bed, Lucius pondered whether this was perhaps a guest room.

The dresser drawers, he discovered, were empty and there were no picture frames or personal-looking knick-knacks. "We didn't find anything in the bathroom, Malfoy," called Goyle.

"Go downstairs then, you bumbling idiots!" Malfoy often did this nowadays, displacing his anger onto whoever was readily available. It was a trait he had picked up from the Dark Lord himself in the recent months.

He used to be so cool and collected, calculating in his responses that were exactly the right thing to bring a person down, but lately his temper was getting the better of him. His Master the Dark Lord was brilliant, but he demanded so much of his followers, especially of those higher up on the hierarchy. This latest turn of events was certainly no exception.

The bastard hasn't let up on this for days and I haven't had any sleep because of it. He expects me to do two jobs at the same time.

"Malfoy! I think we've found something!" Nott's voice was excited, but Lucius knew better: _The bumbling idiot probably came across nothing_. He went downstairs and couldn't the pair.

"Out here, Malfoy!" called Goyle.

Lucius walked to the open sliding door and saw Nott and Goyle bent over a—well what was it? It was towards the back of the yard, near some (now) dead flowers. _It must be a bench of some sort_, Malfoy thought. _Who could be excited over that?_

"Malfoy! We found something here, the Mudblood lovers in some pictures—but with a girl."

_A girl?!_ Malfoy strode swiftly to Goyle and Nott's side, pushing them aside. He got a better look at the bench. It was more-or-less a wooden, rectangular box, but Goyle and Nott had lifted the top off of it and inside it was filled with dozens of things, mostly photographs and papers.

It was dark, so Malfoy muttered "_Lumos_" and rooted through the box, looking at the pictures. "They can't have a daughter, it would've been seen on the records . . . a cousin maybe?" he muttered.

As he looked at the pictures again, this one of the small girl sitting on the lap of a fat man dressed in red, Malfoy realized two things. First, the picture was a Muggle picture and secondly, the fat red man holding the girl was undoubtedly a Santa Claus.

The reason why he didn't recognize him before was because in the Wizarding world, parents didn't do such ridiculous things. But taking a good, hard look at the picture, Malfoy was sure he was right.

And if they had this girl and they had Muggle pictures of her, who was she? He picked up a "Mother's Day" card and looked inside. It read in scrawling letters, "You're the best mommy in the world! Love, Michalea." Suddenly, it clicked.

"A Squib!" he said aloud. "Nott, Goyle! How did you find this? Tell me!"

"We were, uh, lookin' downstairs and I found—"

"No, I found it!"

"No you—"

"Shut up! It doesn't matter! Just tell me!"

"Well, we found a treasure map on the wall by the door and we thought it would be a good idea to—"

"Where is it? Let me see it."

Goyle handed it over and Malfoy peered upon it. It was a crudely drawn map of the house and the yard. On the back in neater handwriting, was written, "Time Capsule."

With a triumphant gleam in his eye, Malfoy shoved all the papers and articles back in the wooden box and replaced the lid. "Come on, we've got everything we need right here." He levitated the box toward him and the Death Eaters disapparated in the dark night.

* * *

Dumbledore had feared that the Death Eaters would come to the Woodburns' house and so had taken precautions when he originally retrieved Michaela's personal things. He had cast a charm on the house that removed any item that had the name "Michaela" anywhere on it or had a picture of her in it. He gathered up all of the various items and stored them in his private office space (which obligingly grew to accommodate all of the items), certain that the Death Eaters would not find a trace of Michaela's existence in the house. 

And it had worked. Malfoy, Goyle, and Nott _hadn't_ found anything _in_ the house about Michaela. But how was Dumbledore to know that the non-descript garden bench in the backyard was filled with Michaela's memories?

Each year, the Woodburns put in mementos from the year, including cards, pictures, drawings, even old items, like Michaela's first "grown-up" watch that finally broke when she was ten years old. Even some of Michaela's old school papers were in there.

That night, Harry awoke to a feeling of joy—which wasn't good, he supposed, but he didn't know why Voldemort was happy and couldn't do anything about it anyway, so he rolled over and went back to sleep. By the next morning, it was completely forgotten about—Harry had other things on his mind that seemed more important, like the Quidditch match that morning.

* * *

Michaela's first Quidditch match fun to watch—but only in the beginning. The Slytherin's started to sing an awful song, "Weasley is Our King" which made Ron particularly embarrassed, Michaela could tell. He became depressingly off form as the match progressed, stung because of the song. 

Eventually, Harry got the snitch and the whole of the Gryffindor side was celebrating—more of an uproar than Michaela had ever experienced at a sporting event before. People got excited over sports in America, Michaela thought, but not _this_ much!

Seeing all the hubbub and commotion around her, all the stories that she'd heard in past years about crazy European fans suddenly seemed more believable. Michaela could never understand the European passion for soccer, for example. It was fun to play it, but not to watch it. The game was too simple—kick a ball into the goal, essentially. And there were such things as ties.

Ties, Michaela thought, were unacceptable. To her, _somebody_ had to win. Of course, this was just in sports, of no means how she lived her life. Compromising could be one of the best things that could happen in a bad situation, but that was neither here nor there.

"WHOO! AOW!" she shouted along with the rest of the Gryffindors. Michaela was so busy sharing the merriment of the Gryffindors that she didn't notice what happened next. It wasn't until after she saw Harry and George suddenly run headlong into Draco that she realized all was not well.

Madam Hooch yelled, _IMPEDIMENTA!_ and the spell knocked the boys off their feet and threw them several feet backwards. The roar of the crowd was now not loudest by the Gryffindors but by the Slytherins who jeered at Harry and George as they walked past, heading back to Hogwarts.

Finding Hermione, Michaela talked quickly with her, asking if she knew what happened. "No, I couldn't hear anything," Hermione said, anxiously. "Oh! I hope they don't get into too much trouble."

_Too much trouble? Try getting kicked off the Gryffindor Quidditch team_, Michaela thought. After she found out exactly what happened, she was furious too—at Draco and Umbridge. How could she be so unfair? Just another reason to oppose her with more vigor.

That evening, Harry, Hermione, and Michaela were discussing the match when Ron suddenly came in, looking pale and chilled to the bone. Hermione immediately jumped up, saying, "Where have you been?"

"Walking." Ron mumbled.

"You look frozen, come and sit down!"

Ron walked to the chair farthest away from Harry and slunk into it. "I'm sorry," he said.

"What for?" Harry asked.

"For thinking I can play Quidditch," said Ron. "I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow."

Harry started to argue with him, and for once, Michaela let them be. She noticed Hermione walk over to the window and joined her, looking at the snow that was flurrying downwards.

"This is the worst I've felt in my life," Ron concluded bitterly.

"Join the club," Harry said, matching Ron's tones.

"Well, I can think of one thing that might cheer you both up," Hermione said, still looking at the window.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Hermione said. "Hagrid's back."

Harry ran up to his dormitory while Ron and Hermione explained to Michaela who Hagrid was. When Harry brought down the cloak, they tried to fit all four of them under it, but it just wasn't working.

"You guys go ahead," Michaela said. "You know him more than I and you can tell me everything when you get back." The trio headed out and Michaela looked around, seeing no one else in the common room, headed up to her own dormitory.

Lavender and Pavarti were doing their nails and gave no notice to Michaela since they were engrossed in their gossiping. Michaela rummaged through her trunk and held up the mirror that Sirius had given her. But instead of going into the bathroom, Michaela headed back downstairs. Sure it was risky, but it was just so comfortable downstairs and there was nobody there and it was pretty late. All these things Michaela told herself as she went down.

Settling herself on a chair that had a good view of the stairs leading to the various dormitories and the Portrait hole, Michaela looked into the mirror and called for Sirius.

His face appeared in the mirror and Michaela's face lit up. She couldn't help it. He was just too cute with his hair all out of place—

"Michaela?"

"Hey Sirius, how're you?"

"I'm doing okay, but why the late hour? Everything alright?"

"Yes, we're fine. Ron, Harry, and Hermione just went off to visit Hagrid who just got back but there wasn't enough room for me underneath the Invisibility Cloak so I'm waiting for them to get back. Thought I might chat with you for a bit."

"Why of course. How've you been?"

"Well, I've been pretty busy with schoolwork and everything. Hermione's even got me knitting for House Elf clothes."

"She's still after that?"

"Yes. The way I see it, if they want to be free, they'll have the opportunity now. Uncle Albus wouldn't turn away a House-Elf who wanted to work for wages, I know he wouldn't so I don't see any harm in it."

"Sure."

Michaela knew a lack of interest when she heard it, so she changed the subject. "How's your friend Remus Lupin doing?"

They talked for a good hour before Michaela heard Hermione, Harry, and Ron creak open the Portrait door. "Gotta go, bye!" she whispered, and put the mirror away just as they came back in the Gryffindor Common room. "Hey guys, so what happen—" She stopped, seeing their short faces and then waited for explanation.

* * *

The next few weeks rolled by agonizingly for Michaela. After Harry, George, and Fred got kicked off the Quidditch team, tensions grew more and more between her and Umbridge. The weekly sessions were becoming a nightmare for her and with the added stresses of more schoolwork, college applications, and the SAT test in the next few days, Michaela felt overwhelmed. 

_Keep your cool, keep your cool_. But with her vicious comments each week about her school, her friends, her way of life, basically, Michaela didn't know how much more she could take. She was beginning to understand Harry's anger, but even Harry's anger was going away. Since the D.A. had formed, he had a sort of talisman against her. He was defying her, even if not openly.

What was Michaela doing? There was only so much she could do against Umbridge with her comments and Michaela's replies were becoming steadily more and more daring, leading to detention.

Fortunately, since she wasn't an official student at Hogwarts, she didn't have to do Umbridge's detentions; she had to do the equivalent of her own high school. That basically meant cleaning up the hallways and classrooms with Filch, who talked very nastily to her the first few times, but eased up an inch when he saw the energy she put into the work that she was assigned.

If there was any other thing that Michaela could defy Umbridge in, it was doing exactly what Umbridge didn't expect her to do. She did better than her best when she cleaned the classrooms. The classrooms never looked so swept or polished when she mopped them.

_Of course_, she thought ironically, _one sweep of someone's wand could probably make it just as nice than when I clean it, but this shows my hard work, at least_.

But even with all of this, Michaela's feelings of not belonging at Hogwarts continued, and if anything, grew. She was relieved when the holidays came around. She planned to have another long talk with her uncle about her future plans, one possibly being that she go back to California.

As for her parents? Michaela didn't know what to think. They had been taken away from her four months ago and she had no idea whether they would come back or not. Though the thought of them possibly dead still wrenched at her heart, she found that she was beginning to move on.

She didn't have any news on them and couldn't worry about them all the time because it would drive her crazy. She would become that broken figure again all those months ago, back in August, but permanently this time. And she didn't want that to happen. She had to remain strong.

Not only for her parents, but most of all for herself. She had her life to lead and hanging around at Hogwarts was not fulfilling or making her happy. After all, she spent more of her time in the library than she did anything else. She was becoming an Internet addict, and lately had taken to reading various live journals, reading peoples lives and wishing so much for her old life.

As she settled into bed that night, she firmly stamped out what she was going to say to her uncle the next day. She would stay with the Weasleys for the holidays, but wanted to go back to her own life. She would be eighteen soon and could take care of herself or perhapsher unclecould send someone to live with her.

Little did she know but this night was the night that the Weasley family would be knocked upside down as Arthur Weasley was attacked by Lord Voldemort. The events that followed would make it impossible for her to go back to California, but she did not know that. All she knew was the fading reality of the world as she dozed off to sleep.

* * *

Ah? Aah? Whadda ya think? I like it, but am a bit iffy on some parts. So if you've gotten this far, please tell me what you think! Am I moving too fast? There's a bit of a jump in this chapter from about late October to mid-December. I'm also looking for a beta reader (as I've just found out what they are),,,I've gone over this pretty thoroughly, but you never know. Thanks, and the next chappie should be out in the next two weeks or so. 


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